Long Live a Long Love
by KestrelMae
Summary: Eragon comes to grip with his immortality and his constant love for Arya over the years; Rated M for future chapters; Plan on making it long, so give the story time to develop.
1. A New Reality

Disclaimer: I don't own it. None of it. Wish I did, but I don't. All credit for original story line, characters, and world go to Christopher Paolini.

Chapter 1: A New Reality

94 years had passed since his adventure had begun… a lifetime to most; but a moment here. Beneath the forest canopy of Du Weldenvarden, time moved at a different pace. A different race lived here, and among them, Eragon became more accustom to the longevity of his life. The hardest part by far had been simply grasping and accepting the fact that he would gradually watch everything he knew and loved in the human world grow old, crumble, and fall to ruin. He knew this would happen, but coming to terms with all this implied had been a terrible, painful blow to his reality.

After the war had been won (at the cost of thousands upon thousands of lives from every race, countless families thrown into grief, and mental as well as physical scars on the survivors that would never heal) things had continued to be chaotic. No one really knew what to do now. "What did they do from here? How should the new government be established, and how can we continue the current truce between the races?" were questions echoing to every corner of the land. No one had answers, but everyone looked to Eragon to find them. He had none. He had never wanted to rule and refused to do so now. There were good people in the world; surely there was a way to establish peace among them.

Eventually, about 4 years after the fall of Galbatorix, an oligarchical system was firmly set in place and strictly conformed to. Five members from each of the four races (elves, humans, dwarves, and urgals), selected by their own people, sat a council. Together, they would negotiate and attempt to find the best solution to any problems that arose. So far, it had worked. Hiccups occurred, as they always would, but were settled.

Eragon had been 23 when the war was won. 7 years of running, fighting, and grief had changed Eragon more than he could ever have imagined. That's not to say there were not moments of joy, elation, and celebration, but even at his young age, he had come to feel so much older. His world would never be as it had been. Ever.

He had settled himself back at his childhood home, eventually, after years of flying all over the Empire with Saphira: his dragon, his confident, his constant companion, and dearest friend. Together, they traveled all of the Empire and Surda, fixing whatever problems and disputes where in their power to fix.

Being so far away from most major cities presented problems. Only in rare moments of tranquility was he able to visit Roran and Katrina who had truly returned home to raise their ever growing family after the decades Roran spent serving in the army. Most of his time was spent surviving lonely nights at the newly resurrected Rider posts. As for Katrina, she had birthed a healthy hoard of children. Their first son they named Garrow; the second Eragon. (There had been an unusually high spike in the number of boys named Eragon after the war had been won…) Three girls completed the happy family, all of which Roran openly doted on.

Time however, marched ever on. As Roran's children grew older, Roran grew old. Grey streaked his hair and beard and his body began to ache. Eragon knew the time was coming when Roran would pass into the void, never again to wake. Each year that thought grew ever more crushing. Eventually it would happen. The fact was inevitable. The grief would nearly tore Eragon apart, body and soul. He quickly realized, after that after gaining control of himself and putting Roran forever to rest in his heart, this pain would be repeated, time and again, throughout his existence. This pain he could not endure. Slowly, slowly he would withdraw from the human world and the relationships he had formed within it. He would try to take what solace might present itself among the other immortal and long-lifed races.


	2. Riders: Old and New

Disclaimer: I don't own it. None of it. Wish I did, but I don't. All credit for original story line, characters, and world go to Christopher Paolini.

Chapter 2: Riders: Old and New

When Eragon was 40 the world changed again. His family was still happy, healthy and thriving. No, his world changed in a whole new capacity.

To everyone's surprise and joy, the last dragon egg which had been jealously hoarded by Galbatorix for over a century finally hatched, all people celebrated with wild abandon. The Riders, it seemed, had returned.

Eragon was delighted to have a new student, though wary of the changes it would mean for him, Saphira, and the future of the world. The Riders had grown confident before, proud, and all together too powerful. It had been their downfall. This, above all, could not happen again. There had to be limits, restraints placed on their power over the people and the land.

The dragon, green of scale and emerald of eye was named Verdenci. He was a magnificent beast, and grew quickly. His disposition tended to be cheerful; a stark contrast to the solemn personality of Glaedr. He constantly wondered if it was a natural difference, or only a difference in the situation of the world he was born into. He was born into a world of companions. Though there were not many, there were enough that he did not feel alone. He was ever confident, and prone to joking as often as not.

As for his Rider, she was a girl of 19 named Petrya. Her hair, a deep brown, always seemed to glow. She told Eragon once that it had never done that before. It was the first sign of the magic working upon her. Her eyes were blue, a color so deep they were almost violet. All of this made her a very popular love interest among men the land over.

Eragon realized the impact which a female Rider could have on his life. He wanted dearly to see her as a love interest, but knew that it would have to wait. She was a new Rider, and he had to instruct her lest she kill herself with her new-found strengths. "It would be inappropriate. I am her teacher and she my student. And I must be wary. Loneliness is not, in itself, a cause of a relationship nor should it be the basis for love," Eragon told himself.

Petrya was an enigma. She seemed flighty, but Eragon knew it to be a front. She pretended innocent, but her motives ran deep. She played a dangerous game, but played it well. She had been born to a family of well-to-do merchants. She was not exactly rich, but was raised among various members of nobility that came to treat with her father. She knew her parents expected her to marry well, and had been taught the rules of the power game from a young age. She knew how to work people, manipulate them into getting what she wanted.

_She could be dangerous_ Eragon said to Saphira.

_Aye. She will have to be watched over, and you must instruct her well. Point her moral compass in the right direction. Knowing these matters in itself is not a crime, so long as she does so for the good of the nation_ she answered.

Eragon nodded, but made no other comment. So far, she had shown a strong will to help the people. It became more apparent that while she had a tender heart for the poor and suffering, she had a guarded opinion of the wealthy. She had had money growing up, yes. She also grew up watching how people with money could corrupt a legal system, using their power to benefit themselves regardless of who it hurt.

Murtagh had survived the war, but the torment the entire ordeal had thrown him into was palpable. Most people still felt only scorn towards him, and next to no one trusted him. Again and again, time after time, Eragon reminded him to be patient. Time would show them. Soon, in generations to come, the story would change.

"You will be celebrated as one of the greatest Riders ever. For you overcame the control of a tyrant and threw him down. You were forced into evil, but emerged a changed man. You did and have done all you could for the people living here. They will see you as a man who suffered greatly, but did all he could to preserve the sanctity of our position," Eragon told him. Murtagh would nod along, but Eragon knew he did not believe him. Time would show him though.

Thorn was another matter altogether. "The Mad Dragon," the people had started calling him. The effect of Galbatorix's magic on him, the pain it had caused, had changed him in ways that could not be undone. Although the elves had done all they could to reduce the condition, Thorn was easily excitable. Anxious, irritable, and sometimes paranoid he was not one to easily interact with the others. It seemed fitting as Murtagh was all too happy to join Thorn in the want of solitude.

While the people called Thorn mad, Eragon pitied him. He had had an unimaginable life-altering childhood. Forced to grow beyond his years physically, no one could ready him for the impact the attempted mental growth would have on him. It was barbaric; an abomination. It made Eragon angry just thinking about it. A child with adulthood forced upon him without his will or consent. A childhood ripped from him the minute he was hatched…

Saphira, Thorn, and Verdenci had a complicated and complex relationship with one another. All three knew that the existence of their race depended on them. Saphira herself struggled to find a mate in just one of them. She would spend a few decades with one, and then prefer the other. Neither seemed to mind terribly much; it was the nature of their race. The wild dragons did not mate for life. The strongest males mated with the most fertile females. The Riders' dragons tended to find companionship more important, so they courted each other for longer amounts of time.

Over the years, several eggs were hatched, but left to be wild dragons. Saphira instilled in them the necessity of cooperation between the races. They had a certain amount of freedom; it would be disastrous to their race if they ignored the balance the races had reached.

_Later_, she explained, _we will give to the Riders, though less than before. Mistakes must be avoided, lest history repeat. For now, we must focus on bringing dragons back into the world._

And so it was…


	3. Love: Ever Changing, Ever Constant

Disclaimer: I don't own it. None of it. Wish I did, but I don't. All credit for original story line, characters, and world go to Christopher Paolini.

Chapter 3: Love: Ever Changing, Ever Constant

Eragon, in his travels throughout the world, had met many comely human girls who had begged his favor. But they were just that: girls. A few he had even befriended. It became apparent, however, that politics dogged his every step. Families of the girls found themselves suddenly superior to those around them. Fathers expected gifts to be showered on them, and in return for the favor he showed their daughters, would lavish him with gifts. They were material things: gold, jewels, the finest silks and satins. Things he did not need, and found no joy in. They seemed to expect that their family's relationship with Eragon would raise their place in the world. The joy he had found in their friendship quickly soured into a stoic acceptance. Occasionally the girls suffered harassment as jealousy ran rampant.

No… relationships of the heart with human women seemed impossible for one such as he. The thought of watching his wife, his love, grow old and die while he remained forever young was so terrifying bile rose in his mouth. Roran was growing old and Eragon was already struggling to accept and deal with that fact. And taking multiple wives seemed repugnant and simply wrong. _ Love_, he thought, _should be for forever. Unchanging and pure._ It was a hopelessly romantic viewpoint, he knew, but one that persisted throughout his years.

More and more, his relationship with Petrya grew from teacher and student to… something else. It was hard to describe. They found comfort in each other. They both were human, but different from the rest. Murtagh shared in this experience, and Eragon saw the struggle in Petrya's heart as she was forced to choose between them.

She, more than Eragon (and he suspected Murtagh as well), seemed to grasp the enormity of their prolonged and endless life in stride. She saw it as a gift, one which she had definite plans to employ. She was a force to be reckoned with, to be sure. She was fiery and passionate beyond any woman Eragon had ever encountered. She carried herself in ways that strongly reminded Eragon of Nasuada. She was strong, confident, and not one to be controlled (a fact that asserted itself rather often in their training sessions together).

She made no hurry to choose which man she wanted. In fact, Eragon grew ever more suspicious that she was simply waiting for he and Murtagh to accept that they would life forever. In the long run, it seemed to her, why should she have to pick between one or the other? There was plenty of life to share. Once they realized it, the drama of the situation would expel itself.

She flirted often with both men, and several elves. The elves, it seemed, were at a loss at how to respond to her just as he and Murtagh were. However, they hid it better. Murtagh always bristled when she came around. His shoulders stiffened and he could not shrug of his discomfort of having someone like Petrya around.

"She plays too many games," Murtagh said. "She plays with _us_. I don't want to be played with. She can't make up her mind, fine. But if that's the case, she should just figure it out and leave us out of it!" Eragon had to hide his smile. No matter how the years continued, Murtagh was still Murtagh. Rarely patient, and always on edge.

When Eragon imagined what life would be like with Petrya, it was a struggle to bring the picture to him mind. He could not figure out how it would work, only that he wanted it to. _It would be nice… to not be so alone._ Saphira now had Thorn and Verdenci. When would it be Eragon's turn to have the burden of being alone lifted?

Whenever Eragon _was_ able to imagine what life would be like with Petrya, the dream was always frail and fragile. The least bit of distraction would shatter it altogether. _I want it; I want someone. But perhaps I must accept that it is not her._ No matter how many times Eragon told himself that, however, whenever she was around, teasing him, flirting with him, being her whimsical, confident self… _I cannot help but feel the attraction._

In his dreams, Petrya was there. But not for long. _She_ _always appears. Without fail. Year after year… and with her, the pain._ Eragon often woke with tears on his face after such a dream. The pain shot through his mind and heart as if an arrow had taken root there.

Indeed, throughout the long years Eragon spent flying the lengths of Alagaësia he never forgot Arya. The elven princess was always in the back of his mind and thoughts of her were constant company during many a lonely night. Only she could he love whole heartedly.

….

In a terrifying moment of unsurpassed doubt many years ago, Eragon realized that perhaps his love was an obsession, and doomed to be nothing more. So, at the age of 40-something (he couldn't quite remember now), amidst training his new student, he had forced himself to distance himself from her- a daily torture which invoked excruciating, almost physical pain. He adopted a rigid formal tone and manner towards her, surpassing even the strict formality of elven culture and custom. Among others, he allowed himself the comfort and luxury of informality, but no longer allowed himself the illusion of being able to do so with her.

A year passed in this manner before, frustrated, Arya confronted him while he was visiting the principle city of Uru'baen for a diplomatic congress.

"Eragon, I would ask you something, if you allow it," she started.

Eragon nodded, dreading what may come from this.

"Why do you regard me so distantly always? With many people you have known for less time than me you joke and speak freely. You used to do so with me as well. But no longer," she said. The hurt in her words was palpable, though she fought to keep her face neutral.

Eragon took his time before answering. "I have known you a long time. Long than most people, I know. But my… regard for you, my esteem of you… my… _feelings_ for you remain. I love you as much now as I did when I was 17. The love I bear for you is unchanged." Seeing she would protest, Eragon raised his hand to forestall her. "Nor have your feelings regarded me changed. I understand that. I know. All too well, I know.

"I will not ask you to change how you feel, nor shall I push you for more. This… distance," Eragon continued, shifting his shoulders as if to shrug of her constant gaze, "is to protect us both."

Arya regarded him with a solemn expression. She opened her mouth to reply. Only the words "I see" escaped.

"You have stated many reasons why we can never be." Eragon studied his shoes, trying to collect his thoughts without letting her see that his face belied his calm words. "While my head recognizes these as logical, my heart still longs for you. It grieves. I do not place that burden or blame upon you. It is…" He searched for the right words. "It is the way of things," he finished.

Arya nodded slowly. "It is."

Now that he had started talking, Eragon could not seem to stop. "I made mistakes in the past by pressuring you. I had not yet come to terms with my new reality as a Rider. Although my body immortal, I fear that, even now, my heart and mind are still human. I acted as though my life would be short. _Now_ was the only time I thought I had; I lacked patience and discipline. I wanted love and happiness at any cost for fear of dying unhappy and utterly alone. Any risks I considered seemed well worth my time."

He paused, hoping Arya would say something, anything to stop him from rambling on. The hole he was digging would soon be a gaping chasm he did not know if he could close again. Arya remained silent. " I will not tell you again my feelings." He tried to appear confident, even while swallowing past the lump which had formed in his throat. "Only know that I do what I feel I must to prevent myself from doing so. I would not ruin our friendship as I have come so perilously close to doing before. I understand now that it is all I shall have from you, and strive to be contented with it."

After a long pause, Arya finally spoke. "This," she said with a bitterness he had never expected from her, "does not seem like friendship to me."

Eragon winced at her words. With a single sentence, she had cut him to the quick. His bared soul seemed to shred before his very eyes, and a dread so profound he thought it would engulf him rose from its ashes.

"I am sorry," he croaked, "that I have upset you. It was not my intention. You ask me why I am distant. I wanted only to answer you. This was the only honest answer I could give. I know you would not have me lie."

She turned from him and walked away. Her back was the saddest sight Eragon had ever seen.

…..

It had rained that night, he remembered. Standing in the downpour, he happily allowed it to fall on him freely. It helped to hide the tears he could not stop from flowing. It was everything he could do to not sob; he stood there, fists clenched in silent misery. Saphira tried to reach out to him, to offer what comfort he could. He would not have it. This was his battle, and his strength must overcome it. He would not intrude on the happiness Saphira had found with Verdenci's hatching. Let her be happy. This he would bear on his own.

He thought back on that night often, reliving it again and again; each time the pain came flooding back, fresh and raw. He had distance himself from her as completely as possible following that agonizing night. Friendship, it seemed, was impossible while he still pined for her so relentlessly. While at functions or affairs of state, he was civil with her, but the pleasantries they exchanged were cold. They both avoided each other more often than not. He no longer set out to visit her or sough her company.

The days, months, years without her were in themselves an eternity.


	4. Let the Good Times Roll

Disclaimer: I don't own it. None of it. Wish I did, but I don't. All credit for original story line, characters, and world go to Christopher Paolini.

**Please note: As the story progresses, I have gone back and made small edits to earlier chapters in order to make time flow in a more consistent and chronilogical manner. It will jump from time to time, but the story will mention it's a memory of flashback. Sorry for confusion if it occurs! **

**Please review and let me know if there's something that needs to be fixed. Or just reviewing in general would be A-OK! **

**c:**

Chapter 4: May the Good Times Roll

It was during the years following his falling-out with Arya that Eragon most sought the company of Roran and his family. His children were growing and having families of their own. Many of the children had moved away, seeking a life and adventure elsewhere in Alagaësia. Eragon was happy to visit them all in turn, relaying messages from one to the other whenever business took him close.

Orik was a frequent companion to Eragon, going wherever they were needed. Since the war, there was a yearly festival, a celebration throughout Alagaësia to remind people of the great events that took place during the war. Nasuada, Arya, Orik, and Eragon were honored as the great figureheads of the war. They were the ones present during the great events that transpired. Their deeds echoed through the land, as they would now echo throughout time.

It was a happy time for Eragon, as much as it could be. He enjoyed the time with his family as it extended with each child born. Eragon decided one year to make their family tree, tracing their family back as far as he and Roran were able to remember. Given that Garrow had told them little about his grandfather (for he had been quite young when he died); they had to start with Garrow's father. Things were complicated when Brom came into the picture. His life had been long, and rather hard to date.

The project took Eragon many months. Research alone took a long while. He talked to as many people from Carvahall as he could. No one really knew much about Brom, but Eragon had expected as much. Garrow, he found, had been well known in the little village. While they couldn't remember much about his actual family (given that they had lived outside of the city), they all recounted him with many stories of his life. Eragon cherished these. In the end, he decided that while he would make the tree, he would also start a book. In it, he would record as much of the life of his family members as he could remember. Even Murtagh deigned to participate. "This is the lives who have touched and descended from the Dragon Riders of Alagaësia. Our families should be proud of this. We will have much to add from our own adventures, long after they are dead. But we can add those in as we go," he said. He didn't seem particularly happy about this project, discussing it in an offhand manner. Eragon suspected that he cared much more for this project than he let on.

_It is a good idea _Saphira explained. _Not only will you have the history of your family, but it will be a time line as well. Your life, and that of Murtagh, continuing to leave a legacy even after the others have left. Your family shall be proud to know you. _

_I hadn't thought of it that way_ Eragon admitted. _It could prove to be a rather good history of events in Alagaësia from the view of a Rider as well. But how will I let people read it. One copy will not be enough…_

_You have magic for that, little one. _She made a low humming noise deep in her cavernous chest. _Perhaps gifting each child from your family with one upon their birth?_

Eragon was rather surprised at the idea. _That would certainly be a good gesture… though it will turn into a LOT of books even after just a few generations. _ The idea of keeping up with that many grandchildren of grandchildren of grandchildren was a rather daunting prospect.

_That is the way of families. It is how each of us survives. Our children remembering out legacy. It is so for everyone, even dragons. _

_That's hardly fair. You have a much easier time passing on your legacy. You live as long as your children! You can tell them yourself just by showing them your thoughts!_ Eragon scowled.

Saphira chuckled as much as a dragon could, smoke rising in tufts from her nostrils. _Do not blame me for the mortal nature of your race, little one. It is hardly becoming of you._

Eragon nodded, acquiescing that she had a point.

More and more, Eragon wondered how this life would pan out. What lay before him, and what he had put to rest behind. Many things he would never be able to put to rest, but rather carry with him forever. He prayed he would never forget. So many things he treasured, but would his own memory last the test of time? He did not want to forget Roran's laugh, or Nasuada's confident smile, Brom's stern manner, or even Jeod's dashing tales of his adventures as a scholar among the Varden. They were all so much a part of him, what shaped him into who he was today. _And those are only the __mortal__ people! So many immortals had helped to define his path. Would it hurt more to lose them, should a time ever come in which they are struck down? Would it hurt more to lose people who he thought would stand by him forever, throughout all the long years? Or does the pain of a mortal death weigh heavier? _

_Eragon, please stop these thoughts. You are making even me depressed. Now is not the time to worry about this. All are happy and safe. What matters is that their life was a good one, not how long they lived it _Saphira chided.

Eragon gave her a sideways glare. _When did you become so wise?_

_I've always been wise! The question is, when did you become wise enough to realize that! Obviously not yet…_

Eragon laughed. _I love you, Saphira._

_And I you, little one. _

…

And so it was that Eragon Shadeslayer and Saphira Brightscales set out to write the history of their lives, those who came before them, and the ones who came after. _Does anyone really come __after__ me? _

Saphira thought a moment, then responded. _Not really. I would think they come more __during__ you. _

_During me? I suppose so, though it seems odd to say. _

_There are odder things in life, Eragon. Don't dwell on such small ones._

_Yes, but life would become tedious if I only thought about the __big__ ones. The small ones fill the gaps. _

Saphira sighed, but only in his thoughts. It was a weird sensation to feel a sigh in your mind, but not actually hear it.

Although there was pain, Eragon had to admit that his life had been blessed. He was lonely at times, yes. But right now, it was easy to tell himself that things would not change so fast. He had time to enjoy them. Later, perhaps, it would become harder. People would die, and he would remain. He could look in the mirror, and tell himself that while Roran looked older, Eragon simply 'aged well.'

Life, for now, was good. And he was determined to enjoy it.


	5. The Loss

_**Disclaimer: I don't own it. Wish I did; but alas… I don't.**_

_**Note: I had said this in an earlier chapter, but I'm going to say it again just in case. I've sort of re-arranged things a bit to fit the time line. So instead of jumping around Eragon's life too much, I'm laying it out in a more continuous time line. I am hoping that this will better establish Eragon's life to date, rather than just saying, "Oh yeah… and a few years back THIS happened." Christopher does such a great job of giving us the details in his books… I want to be able to do that too. I'm not quite so masterful as he, but I would at least try. c: thanks!**_

Chapter 5: The Loss

It was a wet, dreary day in Palancar Valley. Winter had firmly settled in the Spine; a silent snowfall covered the world in a grey blanket.

Saphira flew in lazy circles, spiraling ever downward toward the farm house. Candles sat in every window; smoke rose from the chimney only to be lost in the flurry of snowflakes. Eragon wanted to urge Saphira to go faster! And at the same time go slower.

The message had arrived two days past. Eragon had been treating with the dwarves. The clans still often fought amongst themselves, and Eragon went to Orik's aid whenever summoned.

The man was quickly admitted and shown the way to the dragonhold upon producing the message for the guards to inspect. Eragon was surprised to see him and instantly on his guard. People he didn't know were usually not permitted here; it was his sanctuary with Saphira- a place for dragons and their Riders.

He looked down as the man ran in. He had on thick breeches, leather gloves, and a thick hooded woolen coat to guard against the Beor's chill. Looking down to his right, he saw Petrya and Verdenci also watching. He had brought her along to show her more of Farthen Dûr. Often, they did not have time to leisurely sightsee around the world. Now that peace reigned, and Petrya's training was allowed to progress at a natural pace (compared to Eragon's 'accelerated' training during the war), he enjoyed showing his squire all the wonders Alagaësia had to offer. She looked back at him, a quizzical expression upon her features.

Saphira had also risen from her bed, sauntering over to the edge of the cave to join him. No one spoke as they waited for the haggard man to catch his breath.

_What is it __now__?_ came Verdenci's thought.

He heard Petrya 'tsk' in response to his melodramatic query.

After a few minutes, Verdenci spoke again, broadening his thoughts so the man could hear him. _What is your purpose?_ Verdenci, it became apparent, did not hold much stock in the virtue of patience.

Eragon said aloud, "Hold, Verdenci. He has traveled far and is surely weary." Seeing the man's utter shock at the dragon's thoughts intruding on his mind, Eragon thought that answer with his own voice was the more prudent response.

"Thank you Shadeslayer." Taking a deep breath as he bowed deeply he relayed his message through gasps for air, "A message… for you. From… from the Spine." The man returned to his crouched position, hands on his knees, as he struggled to stay standing.

_The Spine? Roran!_ "What message is this?"

Still crouching, the man held up one arm, the paper missive held in his outstretched hand. Eragon wasted no time, jumping from the cavern's mouth. The man was obviously surprised to see someone jump such a distance without harm, but Eragon wasted no time for his reaction. Walking with a brisk pace he approached the man and took the message. He immediately recognized Katrina's tidy hand.

The message was brief.

_Roran's unwell. Health failing._

At the bottom of the page, one last word was scrawled as if an afterthought. It cut through Eragon's heart like a knife, and left a stone in his stomach.

_Hurry._

Eragon left immediately, ordering Petrya to beg Orik's pardon for leaving in such haste. He did not bother explaining why he was leaving; there was not a moment to spare.

….

Saphira had flown all through the day and night, as fast and as far as her power would take her. Eragon knew she was tiring and would soon need to rest, but his thoughts, worry, and sheer panic spurred her on.

As soon as she landed, Eragon bound from the saddle. He stepped towards the door, stopped, and turned on his heal. Behind him, Saphira panted, her chest heaving and breath steaming in the snow. He gave her a concerned look, worried to leave her outside alone.

_Go _was all she said.

Light spilled across Eragon as the door opened. Selena, Roran and Katrina's eldest daughter stood in the door to welcome him home. She was the picture of her mother. How old was she now? At least 35. And Roran? He was what… 62? No, 63. _Time has gone so fast!_ Eragon stopped to give his niece a quick embrace and a peck on the cheek. He skin was warm and in stark contrast to his frozen lips. She shuddered as she closed the door on the frozen world. A puddle of melted snowflakes had already formed under the door.

Upon his entering, Katrina had hurried herself from their bedroom, concern laced her visage. She was stooped now, Eragon realized. Had he known that before, or was that new? The stress was sure to have worn on her after all these years. How could he not have known that?

"Katrina. How is he," Eragon asked.

She pursed her lips. "Selena, dear, put on some tea. Eragon, sit with me. We have much to discuss."

Eragon slowly made his way to the table. "Where is Roran? I want to see him."

Katrina sat with him and gave him a long look before she answered. "He's sleeping now."

Grief overwhelmed him. Upon seeing this, Katrina added. "He's not dead. Not yet. Just resting."

_Oh thank goodness!_ "What happened? I saw him only months ago and he seemed as fit as could be!"

Katrina looked down at her hands. "Roran… has had a rough couple of years. He was afraid of worrying you, so he never complained. You know how stubborn he can be." Eragon nodded. "I know this may be hard for you to bear, Eragon, but you _must_ hear me out."

Eragon sat bewildered. Sensing she wanted some kind of response, not just the blank stare (the only thing he felt competent enough to give right now), Eragon we his lips… and nodded his head. "Okay."

"Roran has lived a long life. He's done so much in it, and has had the joy of watching his children grow. We're all happy here. We're happy with the lot in life we've been given. It hasn't been easy, but it's made us stronger. No one knows that better than you, I suspect," Katrina said with a grim smile.

"Roran has decided… he's decided that he wants to… to go. He wants to be at peace," she said quietly, wringing her hands.

Eragon didn't understand. "I don't understand."

Katrina sighed. "I know this is difficult for you to hear," Katrina's hand reached out for his own.

Eragon pulled away. "No! I can HEAL him!" Eragon shouted.

Katrina flinched as Eragon raised his voice. Selena rushed into the room. "Please, Uncle Eragon. Father is trying to rest!" she scolded.

Katrina resituated herself in her seat, her back rigid. "Selena, it's alright. Let your uncle and I talk in peace, please." Katrina waited for her daughter to give a curt, "tsk!" and leave the room. "Eragon, I will be blunt. He doesn't want to be healed. He's old. Healing him now will only stop the inevitable."

"He could have many happy years to come still! Why now? Why so early?" Eragon wanted to pull at his hair. _This can't be happening!_ He wanted to squirm in his seat, to shout, and rave, and break things! But he couldn't.

So he took several deep breaths and retreated inside himself. He feared what he would otherwise do.

Katrina watched has Eragon's expression went cold. She knew what he was doing. She'd seen him do it before. Even remembering how he had gone into himself for weeks after the war and the defeat of Galbatorix made her heart weep for him. But she couldn't back down now. The only way to get him to understand was to be blunt. Time would heal his wounds. That was an option she and Roran did not have.

"Eragon, we cannot live on with you. We are mortal. You are immortal. Roran and I will die, and you will live ever on. It is the way things are. It cannot be changed. This is not early for us. We have lived our lifetime. If you prolong our lives, healing us every time illness or old age wears us down, it will only hurt you more when the end finally comes. In the end, we would be an abomination. Old and weak; sustained on your magic alone." In the quietest voice, she finished, "We love you, but you _must_ let us go. We love you _so much, Eragon_."

Selena entered the room once more. "Father's awake. He's asking for Uncle."

Eragon sat for a moment, lost in the stillness inside of himself. He heard what Katrina said. He knew she was right. That doesn't mean it didn't sting still. In fact, it stung more. He should have realized this himself. _I'm just too weak to admit it to myself. She's right. And I should know better. It's not right that she should have the burden of telling me things like this. I knew it already. I knew it. I just didn't want to have to face it. _

Eragon stood, and took Katrina's hand. He looked down into her eyes and saw the worries there. He bowed love over her tiny hand, and placed a soft kiss on it. He smiled for her, as much of a smile as he could muster. "I love you too, Katrina. You and Roran both, more than you'll ever know. You have ground me to my roots. I am _so thankful_ to have had you both in my life. I will do as you wish, always."

Katrina smiled up at him, the saddest most pain-ridden smile Eragon had ever seen. Tears shown in her eyes. She mouthed a silent _thank you_, and Eragon left to see his cousin.

The room was dark. A single lantern shone dimly, showing the way to the bed. Lying under a pile of blankets, chest heaving as he struggled for air, lay Roran. His dear cousin, lying abed, waiting for Death.

Selena whispered, "He's not very coherent anymore, but I know he'd like to see you still. Be patient with him." Eragon nodded, and she left the room.

Eragon approached the bed and drew a stool from the corner over to his cousin. "Roran?" Eragon said softly.

A shallow gasp of air noted Roran's struggle for life. "Cousin?" came a weak reply.

"I am here. It is good to see you."

His eyes were sunken, hollow caves in his face, with deep teary pools where his bright eyes had one been. They looked almost oily in the gloom. His skin was paper thin, and off-color. There were bruises around his eyes, and spots on his skin. Death would not be long in coming; it was plain.

"I'm so sorry, brother. I know... _gasp_… I should have…_gasp_… told you," Rorans voice was airy and insubstantial. It pained Eragon to hear the weakness there. As if with every breath of air, he struggled to keep his heart beating and his soul within himself.

"Hush. All is well. All is well." Roran smiled up at him.

"Katrina?"

"I'll call her in."

Roran nodded. "And the children."

"All of them. I'll bring them all."

"And you."

"And me."

"Saphira?"

_I'm right outside your window, Roran. I would not abandon you now _came her reply. Roran smiled again, and turned his head to peer out the window. Eragon moved the lantern away from the window, dispelling the refection on it so Roran could see Saphira's bright eye peering in at him. _You have lived well, Roran Stronghammer. We are here for you, to see you off on your greatest journey yet._

And so it was that Roran Stronghammer passed into the void. His family gathered around him. All were silent, but all were smiling through their tears. Each of them reflecting back on the memories they had made with their husband, their father, their brother, their friend. Each led a happy vigil in their own mind, honoring him.

_A great man has passed this night _Saphira said to them all. _The world knows of his deeds; it will mourn his passing and celebrate his life. _

_**Reviews welcome!**_


	6. The Long Fall From Bliss

**Okay… here's the next chapter. I hope you like it! I had a hard time writing it. I wanted to connect it to the last chapter while still giving some new information that will be important later… I hope it flows alright. /nervous!**

**Please let me know what you think!**

**Oh… and I still don't own it… it would make a BOSS Christmas present though! C:**

Chapter 6: Long Fall From Bliss

Those were the dark years, the ones after Roran died.

They had held a funeral. It was small, with loved ones and people from the village there. It had been a somber day. The ground was frozen solid. Digging for hours on end, Eragon worked past the flaring pain in his back and bursting blisters on his hands to dig Roran's grave.

"Uncle…" Garrow said not unkindly. "Wouldn't it be easier to simply magic the hole?"

Eragon nodded.

After a small pause, Little Eragon (so called to avoid confusion between the boy and his uncle) spoke up timidly. "Then shouldn't we… you do that?" Eragon smiled thinking back to the joy of having one of Roran's children named after him. He could remember the exact sound of Roran's laughter when he told Eragon that he and Katrina would finally be able to stop having children now that they had another little boy to name after his brother.

Eragon shook his head, both in answer to his nephews and to clear away the memory. The pain was still too fresh, and the hurt he felt at remembering Roran when he had been so… _alive_ made everything worse to think about him lying in that bed, breath coming in ever shallow gasps. And now he lay dead, cold, and waiting to be placed in the ground. Eragon would never see him again.

"We'll do it this way. It is the proper way. It's not that act that means something, it's the journey you take while doing it." Eragon would like to have smiled as he quoted what the elves had told him so long ago… but smiles seemed out of place in this bleak world.

Roran was laid to rest, and grief stole over the land. Eragon's heart had turned to stone. Nothing could rouse him from his somber mood, and he rarely had much to say to anyone.

In the next few months, Eragon remained in Palancar Valley with Katrina. The children stayed for awhile, but eventually those who had moved elsewhere took their leave. Eragon did what he could to help Katrina around the house, fixing anything that may have fallen to ruin during Roran's illness. Truth be told, however, there wasn't much to be done. Roran had kept the farm in great shape. _Garrow taught us both well. Of course Roran would know what needed to be done, and when it needed to happen._

When he ran out of things to do, Eragon went on long flights with Saphira. They often visited the grove in which Saphira's egg had first come to him. It was here he let himself vent. The topic of Roran remained strictly off limits. It wasn't something Eragon was willing to talk about. Not yet.

Eragon railed at everything that had happened in his life to bring him this far. Everything he had gained had forced everything he had ever wanted since he was a child further away.

"And the elves! Who do they think they are!" He shouted at the sky.

_What do you mean, little one?_ Saphira asked.

"Think about it. Almost every time we see Queen Islanzadí, she feels the need to remind us that if it weren't for _her_ I wouldn't have you. What did she ever have to do with it? Ar…" Eragon stopped short, unable to say her name.

_Arya is the one who sent me to you._

"Precisely. And the Queen wasn't even talking to her at that point. So why does she take credit?" Eragon said. The power had gone out of his voice, though. His breathing had slowed, and his eyes became distant.

_They did help us, Eragon. Be fair. They trained us._

"Oromis and Glaedr trained us," Eragon said in an offhanded manner.

Saphira regarded Eragon for a long moment. _Does the thought of Arya still drive you to distraction, even after all this time?_ There was a teasing manner to her thoughts, but Eragon instantly became defensive."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I don't even think of her anymore…" Even as he said it, Eragon knew it for a lie. "She's nothing to me. She's made that clear, so why would I waste my time on her?" Eragon studiously examined his hands, his face troubled and his thoughts dazed.

_That never stopped you before._

_Stop it! _Eragon shouted at her. _I don't want to talk about her! _

_As you wish_. Saphira quipped.

Eragon would gladly have drowned in his misery, but as he gazed down into the valley, he saw a line of travelers heading towards Katrina's house.

….

Eragon and Saphira landed outside the house, and watched the travelers approach.

"Who's coming, Grandmother?" came a small voice from behind him.

Eragon turned to see Katrina standing in the doorway, one of her little granddaughters holding onto her hand.

"I don't know, sweetling. We shall found out, won't we?" Katrina smiled down at the little girl who nodded enthusiastically. Dark circles had formed under Katrina's eyes. Her whole body seemed to sag in on itself, as though she couldn't bear her own weight any more.

_She's tired_ thought Eragon. _More than tired. She's exhausted. _

_She just lost the love of her life, Eragon. That is bound to take its toll on anyone. And… she's old. She may have many years left to live still, but that does not mean she is young any more. _Saphira's voice was kind, and consoling.

_Yes,_ Eragon thought, _she is old. _

"Eragon?" Katrina's voice pulled him out of his reverie. "Do you know who that is that's approaching? There seems to be a fair number of them…"

Eragon turned towards the column of people marching steadily towards the farm. There was something odd about the way they moved, however.

As they came closer, Eragon was shocked when he figured out why the collection had seemed so odd. There was a variety of people coming up the road. Not only humans, but elves and dwarves as well. A large group, all traveling together towards the little farm.

An hour and a half later, the front of the column arrived at the doorstep. Eragon was there to greet them with Katrina and what was left of the family.

"Greetings, Shadeslayer, Brightscales, and Katrina, wife of Roran Stronghammer. We have heard of Stronghammer's death and have come to pay homage to a great man," said a tall elf with silver hair. He bowed from his waist to Katrina. "We understand that grief you must be feeling. We do not wish to intrude upon it. We will feed ourselves and place no burden on your family. We only ask that we be allowed to see his grave, and offer you our condolences."

Katrina nodded, a rather dazed expression having coming onto her face.

_Roran was well known throughout the world_ Saphira told her. _It is an honor that so many come to honor him. He will never be forgotten. _

Two days later, a memorial was held for Roran. Many people came to speak on behalf of their group- a dwarf from this clan or that (including several from Eragon's own brotherhood), elves from various cities, human who had fought alongside Roran in the Varden, and even an Urgal or two came to speak about the strength of Roran Stronghammer.

At the end of the day, as the sun was setting, Eragon gave his cousin… his brother… his final gift. A tombstone made of shining pearly marble, inlaid with beautiful scrollwork and engraved with the words:

_Here lies Roran Garrowsson.  
>He was called Stronghammer,<br>and will forever be a beacon  
>lighting the way for good men to come.<br>Beloved husband, father, and brother. _

"It is simple," Eragon told Katrina. "I wish I could do more to honor him."

Katrina took his hand, tears shining in her eyes. "It is wonderful, Eragon. We could never ask for more. We are blessed to have you by our side."

Eragon blushed and nodded.

_Wait just a moment, and you'll see the true gift _Saphira said.

The crowd stood silent, waiting patiently. There was no sound at all save the wind through the trees. Finally, as the sun reached the peak of the surrounding mountains and began to hide itself behind its dark edges, the sun lit upon the tombstone.

At first, it was only a faint pink glow. But as the sun set, the color on the tombstone changed, growing ever brighter. The vibrant hues of yellow, orange, gold, and blood red jumped to life. The stone itself looked to be afire. It was no long a cold slab of stone- it was a living thing. The colors shifted as the light reflected and refracted off it. Tiny rainbows of warm colors were thrown out across the snowy ground as the light hit tiny flecks of mica, turning the bleak, cold world into a field of summer flowers. The whole world seemed to be made of light and warmth, and it all came from where Roran lay.

Eragon heard Katrina's voice catch. A collective gasp had gone through the gathered mass of people. They turned this way and that, watching how the light played across their skin, their clothes, and the world around them.

"Thank you," she whispered. "It's beautiful. Thank you, thank you, a million times thank you!"

Eragon smiled, glad that something so simple could warm so many hearts.

…..

It was several days before Eragon gathered his courage to approach Inue- the elven spokesman from Ellesméra.

"Atra esterní ono thelduin, Inue," Eragon said softly as he came up behind the elf. Eragon gestured with his hand over his heart, twisting, showing respect for the elf and touching his lips with his two fingers.

Inue watched Eragon with a curious expression before replying, "Mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr," and gesturing likewise.

A silence fell then, as Eragon searched for words. He had been planning this for days, and yet it seemed as though all his thoughts and plans of how to broach this subject had vanished the moment he needed them that most.

"How fairs Ellesméra?" Eragon lamely stammered.

"Well enough. She grows stronger now that balance has been restored. You shall forever have our thanks for that, Shadeslayer." Inue nodded his respect for Eragon.

Eragon smiled slightly. "And the Queen? How is she?"

Inue smiled himself. It was apparent that the elf could see right through Eragon's ploy of small talk, but humored him nonetheless. "She is well, too." After a long, ever-more-awkward-growing pause, the elf continued. "Might I suggest asking what you really want to know, Argetlam? It may save time and be easier for us both than this meandering."

Eragon was rather taken aback by the brusque response from the elf. Apparently, his expression showed this, for the elf quickly added, "I mean no offense. I simply see that whatever you have to say may be causing you pain. I simply wanted to give you leave to say whatever it is you would like to. Of course, if you are not wanting to say anything just yet, that is fine too. "

Eragon pursed his lips, nodded curtly, and turned on his heel. His courage, it seemed, had utterly failed him. With a stiff back, he made his way back to the farmhouse. "Please give my regards to Islanzadí Dröttning," he called back over his shoulders.

"I shall," came the reply. After a beat, the elf spoke again, "We leave at first light, Argetlam."

Eragon stopped, inclined his head to let Inue know that he had heard his message, and continued on.

…

In the hours just before dawn, Eragon got up and dressed. He had lain away for hours, pondering what he should do. Finally he could take it no longer.

He pulled on his boots, and stepped out into the frigid air. The shock of the cold hit him with full force, and it almost hurt to breathe. Running to allow his body to warm up, Eragon loped to where the elves where camped.

Inue was already at the edge of their camp, waiting for him.

Eragon stopped running as he approached the elf. "You knew I would be coming?"

"I did."

Eragon sighed, watching the elf from the corner of his eye.

"Alright then. Tell me."

"Tell you what?" Inue said. His voice was soft, and his hair shone in the moonlight which seemed even brighter with the snow reflecting it back. It was as if the entire world had simply been tinted blue. Although it was still hours until the sun began to rise, there were long shadows cast over the snowy fields.

With an inward groan, Eragon forced himself to relax. He did his best to sound confident, but even then, his voice came out little more than a whisper. "Tell me of Arya Drönttningu. Why did she not come herself? She fought alongside Roran in the battles. As did many of the people gathered here. You never did, and yet you come to represent Ellesméra instead of her. Why?"

The elf raised one eyebrow while considering his answer. "Arya-elda did not come. I know not her reasoning, only that she felt it would be… imprudent. The Queen asked if she would go. Arya-elda said she would not. She feared that other… matters… may distract from the true purpose here of honoring Roran Stronghammer."

Fury boiled up within Eragon. It was everything he could do stiffly thank the elf for his time, wish him luck and safety on his journey home, and reach Saphira without screaming until his voice was raw.

As Saphira instantly heard his need, they were soon soaring high in the night sky. The wind and cold stung Eragon's face and hands, but he did not pay it any mind. His stomach was rolling, his teeth clenched in anger, and his heart breaking into tiny pieces within him… again.

_She did not come because of me! She felt that I would have done something… said something… to distract her from honoring Roran! How could she think so low of me, Saphira! I would never do that to Roran! Not ever! He was… he was so very dear to me. And she thinks I would dishonor him by pining after her instead?_

Saphira could say nothing to quell his anger. It would be hours before Eragon would settle down. Tears spilled from his eyes, hot against his skin only to freeze a moment later. Eragon eventually would stop raging, but only to sob into Saphira's neck.

_How could she think I would do that? How could…. How could she not understand what I need right now?_

The shift in his thinking surprised Saphira. She knew that eventually it would come to this, but she was surprised that it had happened in this situation. He had been so focused, so absolutely alert to the needs of everyone else lately. He doted on Katrina, seeing to her every need in her time of need. He consoled the children and grandchildren as often as he could.

He had even sat down with one of the grandchildren when he had started to cry. Eragon had to explain to him that people get old and die. "Then why don't you look old? You're Grandfather's brother right? But you look younger than Mother! I don't understand!" the boy had cried. Eragon didn't know how to respond. How do you tell a child that while everyone he knew would grow old and die, Eragon would look young forever?

But finally it had all fallen in.

_Oh, Eragon_ she thought. He had been so hell-bent on protecting everyone else from grief that he had never allowed himself to realize what it was that _he_ needed to grieve. It was more than just accepting that Roran was gone. It was also accepting who he was… This was the first death to really impact Eragon in this manner- to really shove the fact of immortality into the light. It was a hard notion to accept, and the lesson had been brutal.

It made sense in a way. Spending so much time with mortals when you were not one would only make things harder. What Eragon wanted right now… what he _needed_ was to talk to someone like him. Someone immortal.

_But who could expect him to go to someone he doesn't even know and talk about these things?_ Not everyone knew his story. Very few people had been privy to his journey, his growth and acceptance as a Dragon Rider. Eragon needed his friends. And the one he naturally hoped to turn to was Arya. She had been there when the elves had _changed_ him. She had been there while he explored his new body.

But now… now she was gone. She was nowhere to be found in his greatest moment of need.

Of course Eragon would physically be fine. He was young, healthy, and as close to being an elf as you could get without really being one. But emotionally… emotionally he was breaking. Without the support of someone _like him_, Saphira feared she would lose her Rider forever. He would live on, but he would never be the same.

_I cannot help him here. It is normal for me to live forever. It's normal for Arya too, but… we're different. It's Arya he needs now. She looks like him. She's been through enough to tell him how to cope with what's going on before it consumes him completely. She has abandoned him… in his most desperate time of need. _

It was in that instant that, for the first time ever, Saphira felt anger towards the elven princess. Saphira had been understanding when Arya had denied Eragon, time and time again. But this… this was too far. Even knowing that Eragon had distanced himself from her… surely she knew. Surely she knew that he had no one else.

Surely she knew that she was the only one he had ever needed… why would now be any different?

**Please review! Thank you to ALL of you who have reviewed so far. If anything, that's what keeps me writing. I get lazy if I know that no one is paying attention. Lol. The more I know people want new stuff, the easier it is for me to write! Thank you again—words can't say how much your support means to me! **

**Yours,  
>Kess<strong>


	7. Musings of a Dragon and Her Rider

**Disclaimer: Wish I owned it, but I don't. **

**I hope you guys are enjoying the story. I promise you that Arya will appear in the story again soon. I just needed to set up some things first. We're getting there, I promise! **

**Thank you again for all of your support. You have all been awesome! c:**

Chapter 7: Musings of a Dragon and Her Rider

Eragon watched as Petrya rode on Verdenci performing aerial acrobatics one after the other, just as Eragon and Saphira had demonstrated. They were struggling with some of them. Eragon had to smile to himself. They were nothing if not willfully stubborn to do their best. Every time they faltered, falling out of a spin or getting caught on updrafts, they started over again, from the beginning.

In the beginning they had complained. Again and again asking why these were necessary. "All of the dragons are gone! There are only us and a few wild ones that Saphira has hatched. Even those take care of themselves and hold to the pact they have made with us. It doesn't make sense. Who, exactly, do you think we're going to be battling?" Petrya had whined.

_Patience, Petrya. Things will not always remain the same. You think that there will be no one in your life time that you will have to stand up to, but you are wrong _Saphira chided.

Verdenci growled deep in his throat with frustration. _But who would dare stand against us? We are the strongest! The best! Who would dare to think they could ever conquer us?_

"We shall live a long life, and it would be naïve to think that there will never be a time during which war will be upon us again. Perhaps we will not face another Rider; that is true. But that does not mean that all of the races the world over will live in peace and harmony forever," Eragon said. His voice was soft, as though there was worry hidden just below the surface. The prospect of another war was not one he relished. He and Murtagh alone were the ones to know what it felt like to be a Dragon Rider caught in the thralls of a warring nation: being pulled one way, and then the other, being manipulated by people who wanted nothing more than to use the Riders to establish their own superiority and power over others. Every day during the warring years, Eragon had lived in fear for those he loved. Would today be the day that they fell, somewhere on that blood-soaked field? Or would they return triumphant?

Saphira turned towards their squired pair. _Remember your lessons. Surely, in all the texts you have read, you have seen a pattern. Our world stands ever on the head of a needle. Every time the balance shifts, when someone new takes power and uses it irresponsibly at the expense of the peoples they rule, the balance tips. The world is threatened with plummeting into a chaos that it will not be able to control. What then, have you learned about our own responsibilities?_

Petrya thought for a long moment. "We are the ones who guard the balance. We live long enough to watch the world tip one way, and then the other. So we must regulate that tipping. Using our neutrality to save the world from falling. We have the power to influence the world, but must stop ourselves from ruling it."

"Just so," Eragon replied. "When you sit down to study, remember that it never ends. There will never be a time when you know everything. You will work every day of your life learning what it means to be a Rider, and what it means to know the history that has come before you and the impact of the history you will make. It is a daunting task, I admit, but also a necessary one."

_Yes master_ Verdenci's thoughts echoed in their minds. It did not stop their grumbling altogether, but it did slow it for a time.

In the years following Roran's death, Eragon traveled extensively. He came back every few months to check on Katrina and the family, but spent most of his time on Saphira's back, seeing everything there was to see.

One place he deliberately avoided was the awe-some forest of Du Weldenvarden. Although he knew the likelihood of seeing the elven maiden was slim to none there, he was wont to put off the confrontation as long as he could.

_It has to happen sometime, Eragon_ Saphira told him softly.

_What must?_

_Seeing her. Arya. You will have to see her eventually. There are the celebrations that rejoice the end of the war and honor those who died fighting it. You haven't attended in several years. Word is, your absence has been noted. _

_I know that as well as you do. I just… can't bring myself to do it. Not yet. In a few more years, when my… frustration… has ebbed, then I will see her. _

Saphira pondered this for a long while. Her own 'frustrations' had not cooled a single bit since the funeral and homage to Roran. Within her heart raged a roaring fire for the hurt the elf had caused her Rider, her dear friend and companion. _I will have to have a long talk with her_ she mused to herself.

_Eragon, we will go to the festival this year_.

"What? Why?" Eragon said, all astonishment.

_Because it is right for you to be there. You survived the war. The people, the mortals who fought the war along side of you are dying. More of them every day perish due to sickness or old age. They deserve to be remembered. And soon… all of them will pass into the eternal slumber. YOU will be the only one left to show the horror that Galbatorix unleashed upon the world. _

_Why should I have to be the one to do that? Countless elves and dwarves fought with me. Murtagh and Thorn were there too!_

Saphira's voice was positively dripping with exasperation as she said _Eragon, Murtagh and Thorn fough for Galbatorix a good portion of the war. He is hardly the celebrated war hero you are. We know there was no way to help it, but it is hard for other people who do not understand to accept it. Soon this war will pass into stories, and then into legends. YOU are the one who keeps the stories, the memories, and the legacies alive. You are needed, Eragon._

Eragon sighed. He knew she was right, of course. That fact, however, didn't seem to make the prospect any easier.

_What would I even say to her? It's not like I can just tell her that what she did hurt me. She would say that it doesn't matter. After all, I'm the one that said we should distance ourselves. I just… wanted to protect her from… from me, I guess. Arrrrgh! I don't know what to do, Saphira. I feel like such a fool around her. I don't want her to see me like this. Roran has been dead for six years now, and I'm still a mess inside. _

Saphira made a comforting lament for him. _It does not help that Katrina's health is failing. You have to remember, it is not just one thing. You have a lot of pain in your life right now, Eragon. No one should hold that against you; least of all yourself. You have to learn to accept that you're in pain. It's okay to show it._

"The elves don't show it. They're happy enough to show when they're happy, but it seems rare for them to show the pain when they hurt themselves."

_I do not think that is true. Remember when Oromis and Glaedr died? Arya broke down._

Eragon nodded. "That's true." After that, he was quiet. Saphira knew he had lost himself in his thoughts. He did this often now. Retreating back into himself to examine his own thoughts and feelings. He would not admit that he needed help. He would tell her, confide in her always. But show that weakness to Arya? Never.

No doubt he was remembering those painful days after their masters' death. It had been Eragon who comforted Arya. Knowing that she, too, had shared a deep and profound respect and relationship with the old Rider and his dragon had helped each of them cope with their overwhelming grief. It was then, oddly enough, that Eragon and Arya had been closest. It had happened a few times: Arya breaking down; Eragon being the one there to hold her. They cried together, sharing their grief and mourning the loss of a great hero and dear friend.

To herself, Saphira thought _we shall just have to wait and see. _Saphira had never considered herself dumb. She had a talent, a knack if you will, for being able to read people. Seeing into the hearts, she would discover things that people overlook when they are too busy playing their social games with one another. Direct honest when it came to matters of the heart and soul was a rare event, and it boggled her mind.

Arya did not hate Eragon any more than he did her. She deeply suspected that Arya was just as hurt as Eragon had been when he told her that he was suffering being around her without being able to act on his feelings. _They each tell themselves they hurt for different reasons, but if they actually TALKED about it, they would see they are exactly the same. _How they could be so blind was beyond her.

Saphira was determined to talk to Arya. She knew it wasn't her place, but things would never be settled if someone didn't give them both the shove they needed. She could not stand watching for centuries (_Please don't let this take that long!)_ as Eragon and Arya both suffered in silence. Sure, right now they were angry with each other, frustrated, and troubled, but eventually that would stop. All that would be left was an almost mind-numbing acceptance that fate had abandoned them to live the remainder of their years in dreary melancholy. _Alright, that may be a bit dramatic_ Saphira admitted.

Despite her anger with Arya and her empathy for Eragon, both were important to her. Arya had been a prominent figure in her life. It was because of Arya that she had been able to meet Eragon, thus beginning their adventure and life together. Arya was dear to her. What's more, she was dear to Eragon. She would see them both happy if it was the last thing she did.

More than that, she wasn't sure if she could put up with their moping.

**LOL. Oh Saphira… you silly dragon, you!**

**Review! The more you review, the more motivated I am to keep this on a roll!**

**To those of you who have reviewed so far, thank you soooo much! 3**

**Lml/ Kess**


	8. Confrontation With a Dragon

**Chapter 8 for your (hopeful) enjoyment! We're getting cloooooser!**

**Disclaimer- I don't own it. Le sad!**

**Thanks to everyone who's stuck with me so far! **

Chapter 8: Confrontation With a Dragon

With each passing week leading up to the grand celebration of the liberation of the people of Alagaësia from the murderous rule of the tyrant Galbatorix, Eragon grew progressively more tense. He spent greater amounts of time alone, and often was seen hunched over, his shoulders held taunt and his hands fisted so tightly his knuckles showed white.

Saphira did what she could to comfort him, but there was little she could do that would be of any help. When the time came, they set out for Uru'baen without a word to each other. Both knew a daunting task lay ahead of them. It had been such a long time since they had done this. To attend the celebration, in front of thousands of people… to act as though nothing was wrong… to act joyful, heroic, and jovial to the allow the people their peace of mind whether or not the pair felt it themselves. It would be a test of their will, and neither particularly looked forward to this. But it must be done. It _had_ happen sometime. They had put it off too long. The people began to worry.

_If Arya can face the people as though nothing was wrong, I can too_ Eragon thought to himself. He would have to draw upon all of his courage to face her. Hiding the hurt would be near impossible… _No! I faced Galbatorix; looked him in the eye and defeated him despite my terror that I would fail. How can talking to a girl be any worse than that. _

Eragon knew that he was being ridiculous. But that didn't make him feel any better. That something like one woman could shake him to the core… it was a shock to his system. After all this time, all these long years, that she still held such sway over him was terrifying.

He had convinced himself that if he remained distant from her, pushed her out of his life, his feelings would ebb. Surely they would temper off until they were nothing but respect, friendship, and a comfortable, cordial relationship between them both. A happy medium must exist. _So why can't I seem to find it? She haunts me. Always in my mind, and my thoughts of her my own personal demon. How do you fight a feeling? _

This was something he could not think of a strategy to solve. He knew battle plans and tactics like the back of his hand now. He could look at a situation and see its weaknesses and flaws, how best to use those to his advantages, and where exactly his attacks should land. But this… this was new. He could not march an army on his own heart, nor could he cut down these emotions with a sword. How does one battle something you can't touch, can't even put a name to?

They arrived two days before the festival was due to start. Already the city was bustling to prepare for the three-day long festivities. Everywhere you looked vendors were setting up their booths to hock their wares, bakers made bread and pastries by the hundreds, and new decorations seemed to be added to every building and the city square by the minute.

Peering out his window overlooking the plaza, Eragon smiled. He had missed this. In all of his pain, he had forgotten that so much joy could be found in the world if he knew where to look. It was so easy to still recall how down-trodden the people of this city had been when the Varden's army marched upon it. The streets had run with blood, and the screams of people and clash of weapons had filled the air. And now it was full of sunlight, happy people, and the endless chatter of children playing. So much had changed for the better, and somehow Eragon had managed to block all of that out. He had chosen to focus on his own despair rather than the people he had sworn to serve.

_Eragon. _

_Yes, Saphira? _Saphira was housed not far away. A special area had been set aside for her to bed down in night, and also to watch the proceedings from without worrying about stepping on people. It had been grandly decorated, and every luxury the people could think of was provided for her.

_I have to go and hunt now. _

Eragon frowned. _They supplied you with plenty of meat, Saphira. Do you really need more? _

_Yes. I want something fresh. _

Eragon shrugged his shoulders. _If that's what you want. Wait a moment and I'll come out. _

_No. _

The stark word had shocked him. _Saphira, are you alright?_

_I'm just fine, little one. I just want to go and hunt by myself right now. It will be faster this way, and I can concentrate better. _

It had been ages since Saphira had needed to 'concentrate' to hunt. But Eragon kept his tongue and let her go without comment. Something was wrong, but there was too much on his mind to worry about her right now. She could take care of herself, and if something were truly making her upset, she would surely tell him.

…..

Saphira circled high above the city. Below her, the people looked like no more than specks on the ground, moving every which way with no rhyme or reason. Floating on the updrafts of warm air rising from the warm stones below, Saphira enjoyed the solitude. The next hour or so would be… interesting to say the least.

It had hurt her to lie to Eragon, but she felt that what she was doing was too important not to do. It may not be fair to Arya, but it didn't matter anymore. What would the people think if they saw such an obvious rift between the two of them? Arya was the face of the elves and Varden. She alone would last even when all the leaders had passed. While many leaders had come and go, always to be remembered in one way or another for their achievements, Arya remained ever constant.

Eragon was the face of victory. His very existence had pulled together races that had previously had little to no contact with one another. He pulled together peoples from all over the world, united in one great force to overturn the dictatorship that had threatened them for over a century.

More than the people of Alagaësia, she would not stand for two people she cared about for so long be consumed by their stubborn refusal to face the issues between them. The time had come for some sternly placed tough love.

Approaching the hill a few miles outside the city walls, Saphira saw that the elf was already waiting for her. She glided down to the ground in slow, lazy circles.

_You're early_ she thought down to the raven-haired woman below.

_It's peaceful here. I felt the need for a bit of peace before the bustle of the festival. _

Saphira huffed. What a lie! It was more than obvious from her posture that she could barely contain her true motivation- avoiding Eragon at all costs until they were in front of a crowd. He wouldn't dare make a scene knowing how important it was to keep up pretenses, especially having been absent for the past several years. _I'm sure you do. _

As Saphira landed, kicking up great clouds of dust, her talons churning the ground beneath her as she settled on the knoll Arya regarded her with a wary look trying to decide how exactly Saphira had meant that. After a long pause, Arya let the comment go. "It is good to see you, Saphira Brightscales." Arya smiled; it warmed the dragon's heart to see it. It had been years since she and Eragon had seen her; something that Saphira immediately regretted.

But she steeled her heart for what was to come. _Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I am glad to see you doing well. But there are important matters we must discuss. The pleasantries will have to wait for the festival, I fear. _

"What's wrong," Arya said with obvious concern in her voice. Saphira noted that Arya was having a harder time concealing her emotions compared to when they had last seen her. It seemed that Eragon was not the only one on edge given the approaching event.

_Nothing… and everything. What is going on with you and Eragon must stop. It is tearing you both apart, and you're too stubborn to realize just how much damage you are both causing with each passing year. _Saphira's thoughts were stern, angry, and full of frustration.

Arya's face belayed a moment of shock before she carefully schooled it into a look of indifference and detachment. "I cannot help that Eragon made the decision he did. He reached it on his own accord, without consulting me at all. I have respected his wishes, so I don't see what there is to be angry with me about."

_You have heard that Roran has passed away?_

"Of course. My mother and Queen sent Inue as a representative to honor his memory," Arya explained, her shoulders shifting ever so slightly showing her discomfort.

_And why was that? Why didn't YOU come, Arya? You who knew him, fought alongside him? _

At Arya's silence, Saphira continued. _You left Eragon to his pain, not even considering how much he might have needed you. Yes, he had pushed you away, but you know just as well as I do that he did that more for YOU than he did for himself. And when he most needed you, in his most desperate hour, you ignored him and sent someone unfamiliar and cold in your place. You should have been there, Arya. _

"It is not my responsibility to know when he wants me around after he has so clearly stated that he would prefer we didn't see each other." Her face was cold, a mask put in place to hide her anger and hurt.

_NO! He never told you he didn't want to see you! He only said that he thought it best to put some space into your relationship. Being near you was painful for him knowing that he hurt you with his own feelings. He was constantly conflicted, but always he stayed by you through the pain. If that does not prove his regard for you I don't know what will! But you made it rather apparent that he was not to look at you the way he does. _

"That changes nothing. It is not my place to decide when he wants me and when he doesn't. He could have come to me."

_How? Would you have him leave his grieving family behind to seek comfort with you?_

"Of course not."

_Exactly._

"Why must I be the one to comfort him? Surely he had others there to help him. I am not his keeper. He is not a boy anymore. He does not need me to hold his hand and guide him through his entire life." Her mask was faltering, cracking ever so slightly at the edges.

Softening her voice, Saphira sent her thought kindly towards the elf. _When Oromis and Glaedr died, you know very well that Eragon was the one you turned to in your despair. He held you as you watched the die, and was there at your side when we laid them to rest. He held your hand, wiped away your tears, and shared every moment of pain with you. Can you really deny that?_

Arya studied her hands for a long moment before clasping them behind her. The wind blew, sending a cool tongue of sensation over her skin. "It was his choice to come to me; I never ask him to."

Saphira roared, watching as Arya's emerald orbs grew large. Never, in all the years she had known the dragon, had Saphira ever shown such a furious nature to Arya. Arya had carried her egg with such devotion, this reaction from her sapphire-scaled friend was unprecedented, and scared her more than words could describe.

_Yes! He came to you of his own accord! So why didn't you go to him by your own choosing? You left him! He is not you, Arya. He was not raised as you were, to expect that the people around him would carry on with him throughout all the years to come. He has had to watch as his friends and family, the people who helped him build and share his early life, die one by one. _

Arya was quiet, her lips pursed. It was obvious she was holding something in. Whether that was anger, frustration, or hurt Saphira couldn't say.

_Every time he looks in the mirror, he sees a young face. Roran's was full of wrinkles, tanned from years of working under the sun. He had spots and bruises, his whole body marred by the passing of time. Yet Eragon has remained exactly as he was since the dragons changed him. He is not human any more. He's a Rider. But more than that, he is neither human nor elf. There is no one in this world who looks like him. While Murtagh and Petrya will have to experience these same things, it is Eragon who is going through it first. He has been bound to them through war, love, and memories. _

_He cannot simply accept this. He will go through pain again and again trying to come to terms with who he is. Who else can he turn to but you? Who else is close enough to him?_

_Would you leave him alone? To suffer isolated and lonely? _

Softly Arya whispered, "No. I did not think everything through. I see that now."

_See that you do! _Saphira tried to calm herself. It was obvious she had let herself get carried away. She had not meant to scare Arya into agreeing with her. She just… just wanted Arya to understand the true ramifications of her actions. Eragon would never admit to her just how much it had affected him. Arya had the luxury of being bluntly honest with those she was around. Eragon was fundamentally different. Those he loved he loved with every part of his being and would do anything in his power to protect from any kind of pain.

"I'm sorry," the elf whispered. She had bent her head down, the hair concealing her face from view by a curtain of her ebony locks.

_Don't say it to me. While you caused me pain it was Eragon who suffered most. You know what is expected of the two of you at this festival. I sincerely hope that you can both see exactly how foolish you have been. He is naïve, and yes, there is plenty of blame to go around between the both of you. You were wrong, but he was too. Eragon will not let me in and when he does, I cannot help him. The two of you must work out something between you. And I hope you can for both of your sakes. _

_You deserve to be happy, the both of you. I don't see any reason for you not to be happy together. If you truly have forever to live, surely in that time you can work out your relationship without having to resort to these types of measures. I know he hurt you, but what you did Arya… it was mean. You are quick to remind him of the age difference between the two of you. With all of that time you've had over him, I am sure you are quite wise. So how is it you fell so short in this? I expected better from you, friend. _

Saphira's thoughts had returned to a soft cadence. With each sentence, the pain within Arya became more overwhelming. Their minds were connected only enough for Saphira to send her thoughts to Arya, and yet even through the small connection, Arya's shame was crushing. Saphira had not meant the woman any harm, but it was clear that some very hard truths had been presented to Arya.

_Take heart, dear one. All is not lost. Everything can be remedied with time. You do care for him, in some way, don't you?_ It was more of a statement than a question.

Slowly Arya's head nodded. As the cool evening wind picked up, Arya leaned against the great dragon, feeling secure in her warmth. Saphira reached around and touched her forehead with the tip of her snout.

_Tomorrow will be brighter. _

**Closer! We're getting closer and closer to the big day! The next chapter will have the ever-awaited meeting between Arya and Eragon. I can't promise you it will be everything you hoped for, but I promise that there will be definite progression. Remember, I warned you that this story would likely be a long one. It's not easy to cover such a span of time and delve into such a complex relationship in just a few short chapters and still stay true to the characters themselves. **

**Two chapters in one day! Insomnia FTW!**

**Please review! I really want to do well with this, and I am very appreciative for everyone who gave me reviews so far. When I get them, I very much take them into consideration. They help me develop my ideas better, which helps me make the story more full. **

**So much love for you all! **

**lml/ Kess**


	9. To See Her Again

**Here it is! The long-awaited chapter in which Eragon and Arya will come face to face with one another again. I'm not sure if it will play out how you expected, but you know them—nothing is ever simple. Hahaha I'm really interested to see what you think, so please REVIEW! I love hearing your opinions about what's happening in the story!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own it, and am totally pumped to see what will happen in the 4****th**** book. November can't come fast enough!**

Chapter 9: To See Her Again

Eragon took a long breath, and let it out slowly. He looked out over the crowd, the entire plaza and every side street positively teeming with people. It was a beautiful day, although a bit too hot for Eragon's taste. Saphira, in contrast, was loving it. The sun beat down on her deep blue scales, sending shimmering rainbows every which way. In the evening, the heat would dissipate, and people would begin the celebration in earnest. Every possible open space would be used as carnival performers, story tellers, and musicians plied their trades. Music and laughter would fill the air as the dancing began, and the city became a web of spinning people. Dancing… Eragon shifted his shoulders uncomfortably.

_That will be later. No sense in worrying about it now. Try to pay attention, Eragon!_ Eragon couldn't help but scold himself, but at the same time, he was also unable to fully pay attention to the speaker in front of him. He, Arya, and various important people of state and history (those that were still alive) were seated with him along the back of a raised platform. They were able to look out into the crowd, projecting their voice so that all could here.

One by one, the people would step forward and recall the victory over Galbatorix and the reason everyone had gathered today. He had heard this all before, though, _several_ times over. Surely his mind would be allowed to drift a bit.

Saphira chuckled in his mind. _Are you listening at all, little one?_

_Not entirely, why? We've heard it all before. _

_Well, if you __had__ been paying attention, you would have noticed that every year our exploits have become a bit more… exaggerated. It seems our adventure is rather quickly passing into legend._

Eragon was stunned! How had this happened? And so soon! Eragon discreetly peaked down the line. Sure enough, there was Orik, a smirk on his face. When Eragon gave him a look, "Is this really happening?" it seemed to speak. Orik gave a sardonic grin and rolled his eyes as the speaker continued to speak "on behalf of everyone here" on the glories of the war.

Glancing further down the line, his eyes were immediately drawn to Arya as if by a magnet. Her face was stoic, and her back was straight. Surely she had noticed the aggrandized version of the war and their part in it. She was just better at hiding it. He thought he saw her eyes flicker towards her, but the next moment, it had passed. Surely his mind was playing tricks on him. Eragon sighed and returned his attention of the speaker.

_He seems to have skipped the part where we were all bloody, exhausted, and totally unsure of what exactly we were doing. _

_We knew what we were doing_ Saphira told him. _In a way…_

_Saphira, please! Our plan was "defeat Galbatorix." We had nothing beyond that. Everything else was kind of made up as we went along. _

_Well… at least we had that much figured out._

Eragon had to physically school his face not to break out in a huge grin. What in the world was going on?

_Soon I'll be a god _Eragon said offhandedly.

Saphira snorted in amusement, smoke rising from her nostrils. Everyone in the crowed stopped for a minute. It was evident they were worried the magnificent dragon was angry about something.

_Calm down, Saphira, or they're likely to embellish this too! Can't you just hear the gossip already? "Did you hear that Eragon's dragon went on a furious rampage?" "No… Surely not!" "As I live and breathe!"_

_Eragon, in all the years we have been together, I can't help but note that your sense of humor has improved but little. _

_Really? _ he said furrowing his brow. _I thought I was being quite funny!_

_That's exactly what I mean…._

…..

Slowly… ever so slowly… the speeches came to an end. Eragon, Orik, and Arya had all said a few words thanking everyone for coming out to the festival, asking them to remember those who died in the battles and the courage they had shown, and spreading their wishes that everyone would have a good time.

A huge feast was set before them in a large tent. People walked by the open-aired tent constantly, their steps always seeming to slow as they looked in, trying to get a better up-close look at the 'heroes of the war.'

The three dragons all lay close to one another.

Eragon was distracted the entire meal. Arya sat across from him and a few seats down. He could not help but steal glances at her whenever he could. She, in turn, devoutly seemed to ignore him with all her power. Constantly she turned this way or that to address the people on either side of her. Eragon tried to speak to her, but every time his daring fled like deer before a wildfire.

He could not help but notice how she positively glowed. Her eyes reflected the light from the torches set up along the perimeter of their tent. She wore a gown of deep blue that seemed to set off her green eyes, making them look brighter by comparison. Her long hair she kept down, except for the front part, which she had pulled back in a sort of twist… thing. Eragon had no idea what girls called all their hairdos. Instinctively, his hand went to his own unruly hair, trying to both comb and flatten it with his fingers. _She's lovely. _He did his best not to stare at her for too long, and focused his attention on his plate. He tried to strike up conversation with the people around him, but he found his tongue was thick and his partners seemed to wonder what was wrong with him.

"Eragon, what in the blazes is wrong with you tonight?" Murtagh asked. He had been reluctant to attend the festival, but Eragon had pestered him long enough that his older half-brother gave in. After all, it was only right that he be there. If he wanted people to see that he really had supported the Varden's cause, he would have to stand beside Eragon and Petrya at events such as this. The Dragon Riders had to be a united front. To do otherwise would worry people that the Riders were too independent and another Galbatorix could rise unchecked.

"Murtagh, be nice!" Petrya scolded. Murtagh looked rather taken aback that the young woman and newest Rider would speak to him with so easy a manner. Petrya, seated immediately to Eragon's right while Murtagh occupied the seat directly across from him, leaned in and let her hand rest gently on his arm. "I'm sure it's been quite a day for you. You haven't been here in a long while. It's only natural to feel some anxiety. But don't worry, we're here with you." She gave his hand a slight pat and smiled at him as though they shared a secret.

Eragon noticed that her eyes seemed to have a glassy feature in them. She was quite possibly drunk, or at least moderately affected by the wine they were serving. She took another bite of the meal in front of her, a selection of perfectly ripe fruit and delicious greens. Eragon couldn't help but notice the grace Petrya had gained over her years as a Rider. Already the effect of the Dragons on her was becoming apparent. She really was quite lovely tonight.

Eragon scowled at the thought. _Perhaps she is not the only one the wine is influencing. _

"You know, I know what's really going on with you. I've seen the way you look at her. But rumor has it that the love between you two is a lost cause. I don't know why you continue with it. I'm sure it has caused you great pain." When Petrya turned her eyes back on him, Eragon felt as though he couldn't breathe. Had his distractions directed at Arya really been that transparent throughout the day.

"Everyone can see how you pine for her. I understand though. There was a boy I once felt that way for. I know that pain…" She got quiet for a moment before resuming the conversation. "I had to learn to let it go. When I finally allowed myself to look something… some_one_ else, I found was able to find it." A soft blush had appeared on her cheeks, no doubt from the wine…. Right?

Eragon swallowed hard and gave her a wan smile. This was not a conversation he wanted to continue. He quickly changed the topic. When he did, Petrya sat rigid in her chair feeling rather dismissed.

Eragon studied his plate, and then looked up to study the people around him, worried someone had caught them in their embarrassing conversation. Immediately, Murtagh caught his eye. He had a hard look about him, but Eragon didn't quite know how to place it.

….

It was traditional for the leaders of the festival to start the dancing off. There was a grand celebration tune that was played every year, and the dance was rather well known. While Eragon knew the dance by heart, he still dreaded performing. Although he never tripped, he still felt as though he was bumbling at every turn and was struggling to keep up.

It was a light-hearted dance and a group collaboration. However, at certain intervals, the men and women would pair up for brief maneuvers before either switching partners or rejoining the group as the song demanded.

As the Master of Ceremony lead the procession into the middle of the square, Eragon squared his shoulders with the air of a man walking to his certain doom.

_Be light on your feet, little one! _came Saphira's teasing voice.

_You're not helping!_ he responded. His only response was a chuckle. Glancing around, Eragon noticed that Murtagh walked as though he had a stick up his ass, while Petrya and Arya both walked with all the grace the human female species could offer. _Why is it so easy for them and not us?_

_Because, Eragon, women enjoy it. They feel confident, and they are simply superior. _

_Ugh. You're so sexist. _

_I can't help that it's the truth _she said. Eragon just smiled and shook his head. Just what he needed, one more woman to make his life more complicated. _I never thought I would have to put up with this kind of attitude from __you__ of all people._

_Why ever not? And I'm not a person; I'm a dragon!_

It was everything Eragon could do not to growl in frustration.

He took his place in the line of dancers just as the musicians finished warming up. The crowd gathered round, and a hush fell over the square.

As the music started, Eragon did his best to focus on the task at hand. Namely that of not making a total fool of himself. As the song progressed, however, he was able to relax. Maybe, sort of, even have a bit of fun.

The group parted, turned in a circle, and paired up with the closest member of the opposite sex. Eragon found himself dancing with Petrya. She no longer seemed inebriated, but rather drunk on the dance. There was a spark in her eyes that wasn't there before, and she seemed to float through the steps. Color rose in her cheeks as the dance picked up speed. She grinned widely at Eragon, her breathing sped up as she danced in his arms, only to part again, step around each other, and join again. Her excitement was infectious. Eragon grinned at her right back as they stepped back to join the group.

The next time they separated into partners, he was startled almost to the point of stopping dead in his tracts. There, gazing straight back at him, were the emerald eyes of the woman he had been in love with since he was sixteen.

Arya.

He caught the gasp that tried to escape from his throat at the last possible second, his heart seeming to skip several beats.

Arya.

He hadn't seen her in so many years, and yet his heart still clenched at her beauty. Being this close to her was intoxicating. He could smell the crushed pine needle scent that was almost her own perfume. Everything slowed down.

"Hello, Eragon," she whispered.

**CLIIIIIF-HAAAANGEEEEER! I do realize how mean I've been in this, but I hope to have the next chapter up later tonight or by tomorrow evening (no promises though!)**

**I PROMISE that the next chapter will have Arya and Eragon actually talking, and a lot of angsty emotions on Eragon's part (per usual). Promise, promise, promise!**

**I just wanted to set up some stuff so that some later drama can fit into the story (I know… you love to hate me. Admit it!)**

**Thanks again, guys! **

**REVIEW PLEASEKTHANKS!**

**lml/ Kess**


	10. Life's Jigsaw

**Okay… I promised that this chapter would have more Eragon and Arya. I'm keeping that promise! c: You guys have been awesome, and definitely deserve a treat. I hope this chapter is enjoyable to you. **

**ALSO: I listened to Jon McLaughin's "So Close" like 10,000 times writing this chapter. If you don't know it, it was in the movie 'Enchanted', and you NEED TO LISTEN TO IT! It's sooooo perfect for this chapter. SERIOUSLY. PERFECT.**

**Thanks for all of your reviews!**

**Disclaimer: You should be seeing a theme about this by now… take a wild guess about my ownership (or lack thereof) concerning this…. Go on… I dare ya.**

Chapter 10: Life's Jigsaw

Eragon couldn't think; he couldn't even catch his breath. His feet moved. He knew that because the world beyond her face was a blur of color. She said his name, spoke to her in that melodic voice of hers that always seemed to make him want to drown in her.

When he did not respond to his greeting, she tipped her head to one side and let her gaze run over his face. "It has been a long time, hasn't it?"

He nodded. He wanted to hold her closer, to bring her body closer to his. One of her hands touched his shoulder, her arm lying on top of his, and her other hand gripped his in a light embrace. Wherever her body came into contact with his, he felt as though his body was on fire. A warm sensation ran through him, sending tingles down his spine. "It has," he croaked, swallowing past the lump in this throat.

He longed to pull her body closer, to feel her length fit next to his. And yet he wanted to rage at her. To throw her from her, scream at her! He wanted to cry, show her all the desperation in his soul. He wanted to show his frustration, his pain, his despair, his joy at seeing her again, and his overwhelming love for her all at once. His rapid heartbeat surely belied his calm exterior. Surely she could see his heart pounding against his chest, feel the heat coming off his body.

His eyes traced her face. Every contour, every detail standing out as clearly as it had the first time he had seen her in his dreams: her eyes that never ceased to captivate him, her delicate pale skin that seemed to glow, and her lips… uuuuuuhhh, her lips! How many times had he awoke from a dream, his heart pounding, sweat soaking through his clothes all from imagining her lips against his?

When his eyes returned to hers, their gazes locked. He moved through the dance, every minute it continued, the tension between them grew. It wasn't a _bad_ tension. It wasn't an angry tension either. It was more than frustration and anger and all of those emotions. He didn't want to admit it, but his feelings for her ran rampant through his body, furiously urging him to act on them. _Please, don't let me do something stupid. I can't ruin this again… I can't stand to lose her again. _

He was painfully aware that this could be his last chance to salvage any type of relationship between them beyond that of a politically inclined acquaintanceship. That one thought tore through him, leaving only devastation in its wake.

His hands went to her waste as the dance demanded. They encircled her thin frame, and lifted her, pushing her through the air from one side of him to the other while turning in a small circle. She put her arms on his shoulders, helping him to lift her higher. As he brought it down, he felt his slim body brush against his, and he felt as though he would faint. The pleasure that ran through him, this absolute bliss seemed to make all the torment he had endured at her hands worth it a thousand times over. _Nothing_ compared to that phenomenon. The rush, the marvel, the miracle that was Arya seemed to seep into every bit of his being.

They came together again, in a tight embrace before parting again. Their hands clasped together until the very last instant; he wanted this moment to last…. Then they parted and stood in their lines again; the world rocked back into place. For an instant Arya, an emotion had flickered over Arya's features. Eragon couldn't quite place it. Regret? Longing? Sorrow? No one emotion seemed to fit. Or maybe there had been nothing there, and he had simply seen his own reflection in her eyes.

Eragon's breathing was heavy, he was nearly panting as the dance came to an end. The crowd cheered and clapped, but Eragon hardly heard it. He stiffly returned to his seat on the dais. He fell into his chair, resisting the urge to put his elbows on his knees and bury his face in his hands. He felt lightheaded. ]

Around him, the jubilee burst into full swing. People from the crowd jumped in to join in the next dance, a jig of some sort. Eragon didn't really know, and frankly, he didn't care.

_Eragon, are you alright?_ He smiled. Saphira's concern was blatant.

_Yes… I think so. I just… it's all a bit overwhelming truth be told. _

_Was it awful?_

_No… and yes. It was so many things… I hardly know what to think. I thought… I didn't think it was possible for me to still feel this way, Saphira. That it would be this strong; I'm quite possible going to make a total fool of myself… again. _

_Oh dear one… perhaps things are not as bad as they seem?_

Eragon snorted. _Saphira, I fear they are worse than ever. _

Feeling the breeze and brush of cloth as someone sat next to him, Eragon's heart leapt. Had Arya come to speak with him? His head still bowed, he looked at the person's knees. A dress! Arya had come! But no… the color was wrong. This dress was a soft jade color.

A hand lighted on his doublet. Slowly, cautiously, Eragon turned to peer at his visitor. Petrya. Her eyes searched his, for what he knew not.

"Did you enjoy the dance?" she asked.

He nodded. Had he ever! He still felt the rush from it all, almost as though he were high, drunk from the adrenaline coursing through his veins. "I did. It was nicely done this year."

She smiled at him. "I thought it was quite lovely as well… You dance well, Eragon." Giving a little laugh, she turned to look at the crowd. "I came to dance with Murtagh through one of the rounds. He was so stiff I thought he would fall over at any moment like a tree in a wind storm!"

Eragon chuckled quietly. If there was anything to be said about Petrya, she did make him feel comfortable. Her manner was usually quite calming to him. It was nice to have a friend, a woman friend, who didn't make him feel as though he was going crazy at every turn. "It has been an interesting event, that much I will admit."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "An interesting event? It has only just begun! There is plenty more to come, and many a revelry to take part in." Her hand returned to his sleeve, softly, almost as though she were afraid to touch him. "I hope I will be able to see more of you soon. It has been a long time since we've spent any time together. After your cousin died… you seemed to disappear for awhile. I know it must have been a hard time for you. It was just… different. Before you had been around so often, telling me and Verdenci what we were doing wrong this time. It seemed almost… lonely without you around."

There was something in her voice that made Eragon instantly wary. She hadn't said anything wrong. Surely he was imagining the catch in her voice. It was friendly chatter. He knew she cared about him; of course she did. He cared about her too. He had spent a good part of the past half decade training her and her dragon. They were friends.

"I'm sorry if I abandoned you. You're right… they were hard years; I should not have cut myself off from the world so much. I guess I just figured that you and Murtagh could handle everything. You're more than prepared. Perhaps I got carried away with the idea that the people no longer depended on me for everything with you two around." He gave her a wry smile.

Her hand left his arm, and casually made its way down to rest within his. She squeezed it lightly. "I hope… that is, maybe if you came around more often… if you saw more of us, we could help you with your pain. You do not have to suffer alone, Eragon."

He gave her hand a squeeze in return, and a small shake. "Thank you, Petrya. I'm glad I can rely on you. You have done well."

A shy smile crossed her lips, and a blush rose in her cheeks. Quickly, before Eragon could even react, she leaned in and placed a kiss on his cheek. It was not even a quick kiss. She lingered, her lips pressed against his skin, just at the corner of his mouth. It lasted just long enough for Eragon to feel uncomfortable. This was uncharted territory with them, and Eragon did _not_ want to go there.

He sat up straighter in his chair, his body become taut. Petrya sensed this and broke off the kiss. The color in her cheeks was even more noticeable. She gave him a weak smile, stood, and walked away to be lost in the crowd.

Eragon sat frozen, shocked beyond belief. _Someone please tell me that was just a friendly gesture. Petrya could not possibly have crossed that line. They were friends, and she had only meant to give him a reassuring… something. _His brow furrowed as he tried to pick the whole situation apart.

_Well_ came Saphira's voice _that was certainly interesting. Tonight is shaping up to be even more eventful than I had originally anticipated. _

_You and I both…_

Sighing, Eragon let his body go limp. He looked out in the crowd. Murtagh leaned against one of the supporting poles of the tent, glowering. He looked distracted, lost in some turbulent thought or another. Petrya seemed to appear at his elbow, seemingly out of nowhere. She said something, her face lighting up with a giggle. Murtagh gave her a look Eragon couldn't place, and then watched as Petrya drug him once more into the dancing.

Searching elsewhere, his eyes alighted on Arya. She stood not far away, her arms crossed across her chest. _Did she see Petrya… had she watched as the young Dragon Rider kissed him?_ His face distorted into a worried frown. Arya's only response was a slow blink.

_She saw. _Eragon longed to run over and explain everything to her. _It's not what you think! I didn't know she would do that… the kiss meant nothing. _And yet… Arya wouldn't care. She didn't want anything to do with him in that manner. Perhaps she was even gladly watching as Eragon 'moved on' from her.

_Life conspires against me._

_Honestly, Eragon, you're being a bit melodramatic._

After a long pause, Eragon began again. _Have you noticed that nothing ever seems to fall into place for us, Saphira? It's close sometimes, but the edges never quite fit. And the more you force it, the most hopeless it seems. _

_Perhaps… perhaps it is simply a matter of time. Eventually the right pieces will fall into your lap… you just have to be patient enough to wait for the right situation to shape itself. _

_There you go being wise again. This whole concept of time is confusing to me. I never dreamed I would have so much of it. _

Saphira gave a 'tsk'. _Nonsense! You just never realized that you would actually have to learn to be patient. It's been a lesson that is long overdue if you ask me._

_No one did. _

_Don't be snide. Try to have fun tonight. Thorn, Verdenci, and I are going to fly. It is too hard to move around here with all these people. I am going to squish a child underfoot, I just know it. _With that, she took off into the night. A few moments later, he heard the telltale buffs of wind as the other two dragons took off. The crowd looked up in awe as the three of them rose in the air. They all clapped and cheered.

Eragon got up, deciding it was time to do what must be done. He steeled himself as he walked from the platform and made his way through the crowd to where the elf maiden was standing.

"Atra esterní ono thelduin, Arya Drottningu," he said softly.

A smile graced her mouth, and Eragon's heart skipped a beat. _I don't know how I'll survive this without a heart attack or two… _"Mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr, Shur'tugal," she responded.

Eragon took a deep breath, studied his feet for a moment, and said, "I would like it if we could talk… about everything." He raised his eyes to meet hers, searching for some hint of familiarity, some chance of hope.

Arya considered him a moment and nodded. "Soon. Not tonight, but soon."

"When?"

"Before the festival has ended."

Eragon set his jaw. "Tomorrow. Outside the north gate, two miles from the city. Meet me on the hill we stood on with our troops below us, urging them to be brave. Do you remember it?"

She nodded. "Of course I do." Her voice was so soft, so sensuous. He took a deep breath to clear his head. Now was not the time to be drunk on her.

"Meet me there. Tomorrow. Three hours past noon." Eragon turned on his heel and walked away. _I've faced Galbatorix, and yet I still feel that telling her that was the bravest thing I have ever done. _ He shook his head, then stopped in his tracks.

Turning his head ever slightly, he said back over his shoulder, "Please." He whispered it, knowing that Arya would hear him. All he could do now was trust her; he prayed with all his heart she would show and something would come of this.

_Let this be the piece I have been looking for. If this piece falls into place, perhaps I can start to put more pieces together. Maybe this is the start I have been waiting for. Please…. Please_ he begged to whomever was listening. Anyone… everyone… anything… someone.

**And there you have it! **

**Did you like it? I hope so! Please review and know that you all rock so much! I couldn't keep this up (at least at this pace) without all your encouragement!**

**lml/ Kess**


	11. Of Course

**I know you have all been waiting for this chapter, and I'm sorry it's taken so long to get it to you. I spent a few days in the hospital, and having almost energy for a few days after that kind of made updating a lil… impossible. Lol. Anyway, I'm sorry. And here's the chapter you've all be waiting for! C:**

Chapter 11: Of Course

Eragon and Saphira arrived an hour early to the knoll where they were to meet Arya. In the warm sun, the hill was emerald green. Flowers dotted the hill, blooming as the sun beat down on them. A blanket of yellow and purple had sprung up seemingly overnight. It was a beautiful sight…

… which Eragon was far to troubled to admire. He felt his stomach churning within him. His stomach felt as though it was flipping over on itself every other minute. A storm seemed to rage within his mind, sending thoughts of horror and terror through every nerve in his body, hitting as quickly as lightening. His body was on high alert; his breaths coming in shallow gasps.

Saphira's eyes regarded Eragon; her claws raking the ground. Deep furrows formed around her, the earth deep brown. _I cannot watch you anymore, Eragon. Your unease is contagious. I cannot bear to watch you and this pacing of yours!_

_Pacing?_

_Yes, pacing! You've been doing it for the last half hour, and it is hurting my neck to follow you back and forth. I will leave now, and you should take the time to meditate. At this rate, you will be so tense when Arya gets here, your hair will be standing on end._

Eragon frowned and his face took on a strange look as he sort through her thoughts. _I've been pacing?_

Saphira audibly groaned. Saphira audibly groaned. _Is that really what you're focusing on right now?_

Eragon threw up his hands in frustration. "Why are you leaving? I thought we were doing this together!"

_When did we decide that? Besides, this is your situation, not mine. It is you who has had the… issues with Arya. _

"But I thought you said you would support me in this!" Eragon almost shouted.

_I do. You have my full support… moral support. I am here to boost morale. _

Eragon scowled at her. "It's not the same," he grumbled.

_Eragon, it is time to confront your fear. This thing with Arya needs to come to an end one way or another. _

Eragon scowled, mostly because he know it to be true. _But what will I do?_ he asked the dragon. _I don't… I don't know how to even begin. _

_Oh, little on, just be yourself. _

_What if it's… what if it's not __good enough__? _Eragon pleaded.

_It will be_ Saphira reassured him.

That being said, Saphira rose into the air with two great flaps of her translucent wings. Eragon stared helplessly after her. He knew what he had to do… he just didn't know _how_ to do it. He took a deep sigh, gathering air as well as his courage.

Looking out over the land, he took heart looking at the beautiful city that sprawled just over the series of hills surrounding it. From here it looked peaceful and serine. He know that once inside the massive gates the hustle and bustle of the city would overtake you after only a few steps.

Eragon squinted against the light. The sun was bright today, making distant figures waver as the heat rose from the ground. Sure enough, a figure was running towards him. It loped gracefully from one step to the other. Eragon knew immediately that it was Arya. No one else could run with suck grace, such poise and self-confidence. _She's as beautiful as ever, even from here. _Eragon shook his head. Those were the exact thoughts he needed to avoid. If he thought like that the entire conversation, he would surely end the confrontation with Arya as angry as ever and himself drooling over her feet… again.

He would have hid his face in his hands, but he knew that if he could see Arya, she could see him. He instead took deep breath and raised his chest, trying to look dashing and gallant. He was unsure whether or not it worked. It was possible he looked just this side of ridiculous. Thinking back to Saphira's words, Eragon dropped his chest, and instead looked over the hills again, away from the approaching figure.

The closer Arya got, the more Eragon's heart raced. _Surely she can hear that… my heart is nearly ready to burst straight through my chest. THAT would certainly get her attention, and probably do more harm in their relationship than good. _Eragon barely swallowed his groan.

Finally, her footsteps came to him as she climbed the hill. Eragon quickly wiped his hands on his breeches, trying to make it look as though he was brushing off some dust. Finally, when the footsteps stopped, Eragon knew it was time to face her. He clenched his eyes tightly shut, trying to steal himself for what was to come.

"You're early," he said, still facing away from her. He instead kicked at a rock below his foot. He was surprised how nonchalant his voice sounded. _Maybe I can do this after all!_ he thought. It would be a lie, of course, but it would make him appear… sound?

"So are you," she answered.

Eragon turned towards her, but couldn't yet bring his eyes to meet her. He began the common elven greeting, but Ary interrupted him.

"Eragon… I think… in this situation, it would be best to maybe skip the formalities. I trust that you will not lie to me. I hope you will do the same?" she spoke.

Eragon nodded. He wanted to cry. He couldn't look at her. As soon as he saw her, he would have to do this. He would have to confront her. She had been his rock for so long, albeit a rather unstable one. Doing this could pull the very ground which he stood on out from under him. Just imagining losing her made him want to break down and sob. He willed himself to keep his tears back. It was time… and he was not ready.

_How could I have been so confident at the festival, and yet now I feel like I'm already tripping up?_

"Eragon," Arya's voice came.

Eragon cocked his head towards her.

"Eragon, look t me."

Here it came, the moment he had dreaded for so long. It was make or break, and he had very nearly convinced himself it would break. He had wanted to stretch their bond, but at every turn he found her unmoving. She was solid as steel, and he was as pliable as the yew used to create a bow. She would never bend, but her unyielding character was genuine. Her steel would break his wood in a second. He was the bow, and she the arrowhead. If this went badly, he would send her far away. He would never be able to find her again.

Eragon slowly raised his head, but his eyes darted everywhere, unwilling to look her in the eye. He could not do this. It hurt. It hurt so much…

Arya stood patiently, waiting for him. It was rather unlike her, Eragon thought, but then, she had over a hundred years to master the virtue of patience. Whoever had passed out that particular trait had apparently passed Eragon over for he had very little. What he did have, he rarely found use for.

Taking a shaky breath, Eragon lifted his eyes. Her bright eyes immediately seemed to lock onto his, drawing his very soul out to lay bare at her feet. He tried to steal himself, to hide the storm within. He knew though. Some part of his apprehension had escaped. Surprisingly, Arya's eyes immediately softened.

She studied him for a long moment, the world seeming to become silent. It was as though all of nature held its breath as the two of them tried to decide who would take the first step. It was Arya who made the first move, though she remained silent. Instead, she sat down in the grass, and looked up at Eragon, inviting him to sit as well with a nod.

Eragon considered her for a moment, then slowly sat across from her. Looking at his hands as they fidgeted in his lap, Eragon collected his nerve and slowly… painstakingly slowly began. "Thank you, Arya for meeting with me. I appreciate it more than I can say."

"I think it is necessary. Perhaps this breach between us must be mended… for the good of the world. We must solve this so we can coexist cohesively." She spoke in a clipped tone.

_This is nothing but a job to her. It's a responsibility, not something she would willing do because she wants to see me, or because she wants to be near me. _The thought enraged Eragon. He had worked so hard to bring himself to even meet with her, and she could brush it off so easily. It was something she did because it was expected of her, not because she wanted it.

"Regardless, I appreciate it. I just wanted to say…" What _did_ he want to say. "I just… I want to stop this. There is something about you that draws me to you. I can't say what it is, but it's there. I'm not trying to pursue you. I know how you feel. That's not the point." His voice grew almost abrasive, and his body became noticeably tense.

"And what is the point?" She sat straight-backed, but her arms in her lap rested comfortably.

Eragon tried to catch his breath, feeling light headed. "I…" he searched for words. _Obviously what I came here for is not the reason she came. We are different. Fundamentally different. Maybe she was right all those years ago. There are too many things that separate us, and they cannot be overcome. _ "I don't know." A nearly physical pain rushed through him. His skin grew warm, and his eyes began to water. "Perhaps this was… not a good idea. Maybe it would be better if we continued how it was before. I don't want… to burden you anymore. This doesn't work. It _won't_ work. You said it yourself all those years ago. I was sixteen… and still I cannot seem to want to be separated from you. This was pointless.

"This is nothing but a chore to you! But it's more to me! So much more… and I can't take it, Arya. I have been … lonely. So lonely, and everyone I would have turned to is gone. I thought… I thought maybe I could find solace with you… a friendship with you. But it's pointless. And I get that now. So you can go back to the Queen or whomever told you this was something you have to do and tell them you tried. You can tell them that I'm the one who didn't want it. I don't care. I just… I can't do this anymore."

Eragon stood quickly and turned his back on the elf. He didn't care that he was being rude. He just knew he had to get away… _far_ away from her, from the entire situation. _This was a bad idea. How stupid could I be? Why would __anything__ be different this time? _He quickly walked down from the hill, and before he know it his legs seemed to carry him, and soon he was running. He ran in the opposite direction of the city, but he didn't care. He couldn't go back there, couldn't face her for another day at the festival.

_I'm so old now… all my friends dead or dying. And yet around her I'm sixteen all over again. Running away from her… he must seem so terribly immature to her. He should be able to face her as an adult, dammit! But it __hurts_.

Eragon had reached the tree line before he was suddenly yanked backwards by a hand on his arm. It was a firm grip that allowed for no escape. He turned to see Arya behind him, a flash of frustration in his eyes.

"Don't run," she said. Her voice was stern. Eragon turned from her. He didn't run, but he pulled his arm free from hers. His chest heaved, not from running, but from the devastation coursing through him. Her voice softened. "It's not pointless."

"It is!" Eragon said to her. His words were louder than he had intended.

"It really isn't. I'm sorry… I am not used to talking about… feelings like this. It is not how we usually deal with things in my culture. "

"I am not an elf!" Eragon forced himself to return his volume to that of a conversational volume.

"I know…. Let's start again. We will talk slower this time. Mayhap I misspoke. This is not an affair of state. I promise. I want to talk about this, too, Eragon. This vacancy between us has affected me too. I am not untouched by this. Please…" There was a hint, the barest hint, of pleading in her voice.

Eragon nodded, but continued to walk into the woods. He knew Arya would follow. The trees here were spaced further along than Du Weldenvarden. Instead of a world of shadow, here the sunlight dappled the ground, allowing for the growth of grasses and ferns. Eventually, Eragon came to a place where two trees had fallen. He sat on one, turned so that he could face Arya when she sat across from him on the other log.

When Arya instead sat next to him, Eragon immediately sat rigid. He felt Arya do the same, and a small smile formed on both their faces. Arya was the first to relax, allowing the smallest giggle slip past his lip. In his utter astonishment, Eragon stared at her with eyes the size of saucers.

Seeing his expression, Arya laughed in earnest. True to her form, Arya's laugh seemed to make everything around them brighter. He laugh was like tiny bells tinkling through the air, and the sunlight seemed to shine just that much more gold. "Even elves laugh, Shadeslayer," she said watching him from the corner of her eye.

"Aye. I knew that. It is just… rare to hear it from you," Eragon spoke slowly not wanting to cause offense.

Arya nodded, a distant expression on her features. "I suppose you're right… I used to laugh all the time, you know. Then… I joined the Varden, and my mother banished me. I spent so many years being an ambassador. It was like… it wasn't right for me to laugh. Everything seemed so… serious and somber. Perhaps it is time for me to learn how to enjoy everything again."

"You mean to tell me that in all the years since the war you have still not realized that?" Eragon asked with a sideways glance.

Arya smiled again. "I have noticed it. I just haven't acted on it. Maybe I just need someone to help teach me…"

Eragon smiled with her. "Maybe…"

There was a long pause, but it didn't seem awkward. They simply sat there, both enjoying the beauty that surrounded them. A chipmunk poked it's head out of its burrow, soon followed by its mate. They quickly found some food, but just as quickly started squabbling over it. Arya and Eragon both smiled as they watch the pair tumble through the undergrowth, more interested in playing now than the potential meal.

Sighing, Arya let her eyes wander around the little copse. "This is nice," she said with a small sigh.

Eragon nodded. "It is. Arya… I am sorry I ran. I let my emotions rule me… again. After all the training you and Oromis gave me, it seems I still have not learned to not let them control me. It was wrong of me."

Arya nodded, but not unkindly. "I was angry at first, but the more I think about it, it seems to me that it's not so bad as I originally made it out to be."

"I don't understand. You both scolded me all throughout the war about learning to control myself."

"Yes, but the war has been won. But you were right, Eragon, when you said that you are not an elf. It is not fair of me to expect you to share our life. You are human, and I would not have you deny yourself that. You will live such a long life. Already you have lost much. Perhaps it is best for you to retain some part of your humanity. You look so much like one of us, like an elf. Every year you look more and more as though you were born as one of us. But you weren't. I think we forget that sometimes. You should keep whatever part of you that is human as long as you can. It is important for you to remember where you came from, and what you came from. Otherwise you will lose it entirely, and forget everything you have accomplished. It would take away the… perspective of everything you have done.

"In such a short time, we forced you to grow up and become something you never were before. You didn't have the luxury of a long education. We forced you out of your human-ness as well as your childhood."

Eragon pondered what she said. "It was… necessary. I did what had to be done."

"Yes. So did we. That does not make it less painful for you. Am I right?" She asked him so quietly, as though she were scared that if she talked too loud, the small bit of peace they had created would shatter.

He simply nodded.

"Do not forget yourself, Eragon. Never forget what you were able to do. You have done great things… I would not have you change. Every part of you is who you are. Without it, you would not be you anymore."

Eragon laughed, a bitter edge spilling out. "What about my feelings for you, Arya? Surely you wish that away. They have certainly come to hurt me more than I would ever have thought. I have caused you nothing but trouble with them. And although you rarely show it I think… I think I have caused you pain as well." Eragon could not bear to look at her. He shook his head, a war battling with himself. Part of him wished he could forget his love for her, but the other half of him longed for her. Some part of her, even if it was nothing but the pain that came from his pining… even that was some kind of bond with her.

Arya took her time in answering. "They have made things… complicated. I won't deny that." Eragon pursed his lips, closing his eyes as the blow came. "But… I would not change you. I do not hate you, Eragon. I never could."

He studied the ground, trying to form some kind of response. "I don't want to hurt you. I never… I never meant for that to happen."

Arya pulled her legs up onto the log and wrapped her arms around them. "I know that. I've always known that." She studied him, her head cocked slightly.

"I don't want us to be apart. I don't mean… romantically." A blush crept up his neck and settled in his face. "I mean, that would be great too, but I just mean… as friends." Arya smiled, noting that she had done more smiling during this conversation with Eragon than she ever could have imagined. Eragon raised his head, looking out through the trees. "I have missed you, Arya."

Her hand slowly crept towards him, coming to light gently on his arm. "I have missed you too." Eragon met her eyes again, and joy flooded him as he saw the kindles there. It was not a hot, flushing type of joy. It was subtle, and peaceful. He could not place the last time he had felt so much at peace.

They sat with one another for the better part of an hour, simply enjoying the wood and peace that had settled over them both.

The sun made its way lazily across the sky. Soon, the feast would start again, marking the second day of the festival.

Reluctantly, Eragon broke the silence that had settled gently over the grove. "I think it is time for us to return. I'm sure they are all wondering where we are. I can ride back on Saphira. That way they won't know we've been together." The idea that she would not want people to see them entering the city together made Eragon shift his shoulders, feeling awkward once more.

Arya remained sitting. She looked up at him, and then away towards the city. "I do not care if they see us." Eragon was internally shocked, but his face remained still. "Saphira could take us both. If she is willing, that is."

Eragon slowly nodded, not sure if this was actually happening. "I'm sure she would be happy to. She cares a great deal for you." _As do I_ he thought.

Arya smiled. "She is precious to me as well. To all of us, I think. Though I like to think that I have a reliable friendship with her."

Eragon gave her a warm smile. He was happy to hear that she cared so much for his partner.

"I hope that I can have that kind of friendship with you, Eragon." A blush colored her cheeks, and Eragon could not help but smile. He tried to think of word to describe it. _She looks… adorable. She would kill me if I ever told her that. _He chuckled softly.

"I hope so too. It might take some… work," he said.

Arya nodded. "I am willing to try and make this work if you are." There was a hint of a question in her voice.

"Of course. I would like that. Very much."

**Soooooo… what do you thiiiiiink? It took several re-writes. I wanted them to stay in character (which was much harder in this chapter than the others!) I am scared I made Eragon out to be too… emo? I don't know. But I figured he really is sort of a 16year old in a going-on-100 year old body… at least when it comes to Arya (and girls in general). Lol**

**I want a LOT of reviews! Pretty please! Do you like it?**

**Kess lml/**


	12. A Lesson on Women

**Alrighty folks… the next chapter for your enjoyment. I really hope you like this one. It's much more… calm than the last few. I thought we could … well, if I tell you, it would ruin the effect. Safe to say I think you'll like it. C: **

**Chapter 12: A Lesson on Women**

That night, after his meeting with Arya in the woods, Eragon felt truly at peace. His relationship with Arya had finally been repaired. A weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and it wasn't until it was gone that he realized just how heavy it had been. Years of worry seemed to melt from him with only a few words from her…

He wasn't sure if it was a good or bad thing that so much of his happiness seemed to hang on the fate of one woman, but now, he decided, was not the time to dwell on such matters. The festival was in full swing, and Eragon felt himself enjoying it far more than he had the previous night.

Tonight he was pleasant to everyone, taking the time to speak to anyone who wanted to talk with him. He danced with many a giggling girl though was careful not to pay too much attention to any one in particular.

Petrya seemed to appear by his side rather often, but Eragon reasoned that she was simply intimidated by the sheer number of people and not knowing any of them well enough. He danced with her whenever she pleaded with him, though his thoughts were not really with her. Eventually, she went off in search of Murtagh. He was probably a better partner than Eragon anyway.

Every chance he got, Eragon's gaze would fall on Arya as she moved in and out of the hoard of people crowding the plaza. She seemed to be magnetic to him- drawing all of his attention to her.

This time, however, both their gazes seemed far less hostile or tense. It was as though they played a game, and only they knew the rules. In and out they would weave, she dancing and he in conversation with one of the never ending diplomats seeking a word with him. For an instant the crowd would part, and there they were. Their eyes locked for a fraction of an instant before the crowd whirled again and they were lost again in the throng.

It may have been his imagination but Eragon liked to think that each time her emerald orbs locked with his, a tiny smile pulled at the corner of her lips.

When Eragon sat down at the edge of the dance floor, a cool cup of mead in his hand, he was startled to find Petrya and Murtagh dancing in front of him. What was more, Petrya seemed to be the one leading the dance. Murtagh carried very confused expression the whole time, though Eragon suspected Murtagh was glad just to have this particular dance partner regardless of the switch in roles.

After a few minutes of watching the dancers, a voice came from the seat directly to his left. "You do know she's infatuated with you, don't you?"

He took a long swig from his mead, smacked his lips in enjoyment, and set his mug down on the ground before his feet. A smile raced onto his face as he said, "Hello, Arya. How are you this evening?"

"Quite well, I thank you. But you're evading the topic at hand. You'll have to address the issue sooner or later."

Eragon scanned the crowd noticing several young ladies staring at him. They all whispered behind their hands to one another, some even scowling at him (he assumed because of Arya's presence). This had happened many times during the night each time he had spoken or danced during the night with one girl or another. "Which do you mean?"

Arya sat straighter in her chair, scanning the crowd as well. "Well, all of them, but they are not the one I was speaking of. Surely you have noticed." There was an uncomfortable edge to her voice which Eragon was not accustomed to hearing from the usually graceful-in-every-she-does elf. Eragon shifted in his chair scowling. He had not a single clue who she was talking about… not that he'd ever admit it to her.

Arya scoffed. "Petrya! Your young squire has been making doe eyes at you all night."

"Petrya? You are imagining things, surely! She and I are close, of course. That is to be expected. You of all people should understand that, Arya. She has studied under me for many years now." Eragon tried to look at Arya, but the elf had turned her head, taking a sudden interest in the people standing around a table laden with food.

"You, Eragon, are completely blind."

_She's right, you know. _

_Saphira?_

_Who else would it be? Honestly, Eragon! _

Eragon frowned.

_Focus on the task before you Eragon_ came the dragon's voice. _You are not a hatchling anymore. It is past time for you to understand how relationships work and the affect they what you do. Goodness knows I can't stand to watch you bumbling about like you've done with Arya for all eternity. You are in deep need for a lesson in women!_

_Hey!_

_Pay attention to Arya. This is important. _

"Alright. Tell me what it is I'm supposedly missing to make me appear so blind."

"As you wish. She's been dancing with Murtagh all night."

Eragon paused before answering. "I'm confused," he finally said. "She has been dancing with Murtagh all night but somehow this translates to her loving _me_?" Eragon shook his head and rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry to say that the logic in that reasoning is rather… misplaced. It makes no sense. I would wager _you_ area the blind one."

Still observing the crowed offhandedly, Arya said in a flat voice, "Yes. But she's been dancing with Murtagh where you can _see_ her all night. She's always somewhere where you would be sure to notice them. She has been in your line of sight dancing with one man after another, usually Murtagh, the poor man, for the past couple hours. In fact, she's been doing it ever since _you_ stopped dancing with her yourself."

"Why does this make Murtagh a poor man?"

Arya finally looked at him, a stunned look of abject exasperation on her usually stoic face. "After everything I've just related to you _that_ is what draws you attention?"

_Eragon, really!_ Saphira said.

He squirmed in his seat. "Murtagh is my friend and brother. I worry about him. That's all."

Quietly Arya answered, "Murtagh is in love with Petrya. It is not surprising that a man such as Murtagh who has grown in an environment which fed into his insecurities about himself to be so attracted to Petrya. She always exudes confidence. Petrya, however, is using him merely as a tool to make _you_ jealous."

Eragon quietly watched the dancers. Sure enough, Petrya and Murtagh glided past. Petrya gazed at Eragon, her eyes seeming to call him to her. Murtagh, however, watched his dance partner with an absolute adoration. "I still don't believe you," he said. Though he was beginning to. Perhaps if he wished it differently it would make the wish become a reality. "Because that has always worked _so well_ for me in the past," he chided himself.

"Oh really? Alright… watch." Petrya and Murtagh came sliding up again (the rest of the dancers on the edge of the floor had spun further into the host of dancers, but somehow these two had managed to find their way back to the sideline). As they drew close, Arya turned in her seat and gave Eragon a sizzling gaze. She slowly leaned into Eragon, making him turn his face away to avoid her captivating stare.

As her breath tickled his ear, sparks seemed to set every nerve in his body on fire. A warm flush crept up his chest to settle firmly in his cheeks. It was all he could do to not shudder with absolute bliss. He had to force himself to keep his eyes open and swallow the moan he felt inching up his throat. He tried to focus his mind, forcing himself to focus on her words as she whispered, "If I were to lean in like this, I wonder what her reaction would be… watch carefully."

Petrya twirled by with her winning smile plastered on her face… until she saw Arya whispering seductively in Eragon's ear, his eyes hooded. Petrya's face turned suddenly cold. She gave Arya a searing gaze, raising one eyebrow in a haughty expression. Eragon knew that look well. He had seen her make it countless times when she had refused to back down from a challenge that Eragon had decided was too dangerous for her to try at her current level. It was a look of such determination that intimidation of whoever it was directed out immediately felt overwhelmed by. Arya, however, seemed to take it in stride.

Eragon swallowed. Arya leaned back with an "I told you so" expression. Eragon vaguely wondered if that expression was genetically imbedded in the female race.

"So then… last night…" Images of Petrya from the night before flashed before his eyes: her flushed expression, her penetrating look, and the kiss. Eragon internally groaned. He threw himself forward, buried his head in his hands.

_What is wrong, little one? Well, which part is the __most__ distressing?_

"The kiss… she…" he answered aloud automatically.

"Yes. There's that too. I don't know how you missed that. It was a bit more than a friendly peck from a student to her teacher wasn't it. A bit blatant and transparent in my opinion." Her voice seemed clipped.

"You saw that?" Eragon was _mortified_.

_Everyone saw it. You were on a platform, Eragon, in front of half the population of the entire city. Let's not forget that you're a Dragon Rider, and the hero of the known world. You do seem to manage to always attract a certain amount of attention. Not too much you can do about it really. Maybe grow a beard. Less people would recognize you._

_Not helping…_

_Sorry. _

"Yes," was all Arya said. Her face had become completely blank; her hands rested in her lap almost too limp to seem entirely natural.

A smile crept onto Eragon's face as a thought began to form in his mind. "Arya, are you _jealous_?"

Arya immediately scoffed and replied, "Of course not. Why would you ever think that?" She adamantly refused to look at him.

"Well, you seem uncomfortable discussing this."

"This, Eragon, is not something elves normally discuss with one another. It is a huge breech of privacy."

"And yet you brought it up first."

_Eragon, don't push it. You just mended this relationship. Don't go throwing it off a cliff now._

_You said I had to learn. I'm observing now; learning quickly. What's the point of all of this if it gets me nowhere with the one woman I actually __want__?_

After a long pause, Saphira replied only _Tread carefully._

When Arya still didn't answer, Eragon pressed on. "And you've noticed for more detail about it than I ever could."

"That is not very hard to do!" Arya snapped. She looked visibly awkward. Eragon smiled at her tentatively. He reached out to touch her arm, but thought better of it. He withdrew his hand.

"Thank you, Arya. You drew something important to my attention. You were right; it's something I will need to address. But I don't want it to ruin the festival now. I've been enjoying myself. I don't want this situation to destroy the delightful festivities." Eragon bent over to look up at her lowered face. He gave her a soft smile, she slowly returned it, though her eyes didn't quite meet his.

He held out his hand. She looked from his hand, to his face, and back to his hand again. With a quizzical expression, she slowly raised her hand to put it in his. His hand flashed out before she could think twice and pulled her up. Standing, he quickly took her waist with his other and spun her into the rush of the dance. Her laugh seemed to him more beautiful than any ballad the best of composers could ever create.

**TAAAA-DAAAAH!**

**What did you think? Better? Happier?**

**Lemme know! Reviews = 3**

**lml/ Kess**


	13. Long Lives and Early Arrivals

**I know! I know! I'm super late getting this chapter up! I'm sooooorrry! Life has been... complicated. lol. But here it is. More is to come. Hopefully I can figure out exactly where I want all of this to go. I have a question for you all at the end though! Be sure to answer it if you have the time!**

**Many thanks!**

Long Lives and Early Arrivals

"I will be 316 years old soon."

Arya walked on beside him quiet for a moment. "You've kept such a careful count, even after all these years?" she asked.

Eragon had to laugh. "No. Not at all; in fact. But the festival at the Menoa tree will happen soon. I was 16 the first time I attended. The math, for that stand point is rather less impressive, I think." A small smile lighted on his face.

Arya nodded. "Aye. I suppose that is true."

They walked on in silence for a long while, the trees of Du Weldenvarden covering them from the light snow fall, and the magic of Ellesméria protecting them from the cold.

"Perhaps this time I will not need the magic blocking my ears and warding against the force of it all." Eragon's statement was more of a question.

"Perhaps," Arya agreed. "But you have not attended the festival in 200 years."

"Affairs of state kept me away. You know that."

"One time, yes. But the last one…"

"There was the Kull uprising in the south, Arya. Surely you remember," Eragon said. He managed to keep the edge from his voice. He had learned to be patient here. He had now spent 157 years among the elves, excepting the odd year or two here and there. He had learned that with an extended lifespan, you had the time to learn a lifetime of knowledge… several times over.

He has spent years pursuing every branch of learning that had sparked even the slightest bit of interest to him. Swordsmanship and magic were the obvious ones, but also music, metal working, and animal husbandry. But most of all, he had learned the peace of patience. There was no need t rush anything when you had forever to do them. He understood now why the elves and dwarves always took so long in deliberating over every matter. There was time enough to think everything through. Rash decisions were not conducive to long lives and complicated social structures.

And yet, with Arya he had never quite learned to completely keep patience in mind…

"I do remember. I also remember you being rather certain the other Riders and government officials would be able to manage the situation on their own," she continued, not meeting his eyes.

"Petrya said she wanted my guidance. She was worried about how to be a figure of power but not overstep her position; our role can be precarious sometimes. Would you have her walk into a situation blind to the protocol that has been established for us?"

"No."

"Then what exactly is the problem? I don't understand the… animosity about missing the festival." Eragon stood still, hoping Arya would stop to discuss the matter with him. She walked on skipping onto a large root of a great pine.

Saphira, who until now had been circling lazily above them in peaceful revelry, finally spoke up. _Eragon, I think you are missing the point she intends you to focus on entirely._

Eragon frowned. _She's talking about not going to the festival._

_She's not. She's focusing on __why__ you missed the festival. ._

_Well, Petrya said she…_

_Stop right there. __That's__ what she's trying to tell you._

_Petrya…_ Eragon thought. _ I don't think there's anything there for her to be angry about! It was completely for the well being of the races that live here. It was not some…_

_Plot to keep you from the festival? An excuse to keep you from a time here in the forest in which everything comes alive with magic and everyone becomes punch-drunk? I think that's exactly what it was. Besides, Petrya has lived plenty long enough to know the proper protocol without you being there to hold her hand. She's done it a good many times without you._

Arya had remained quiet, choosing to ignore Eragon's outburst. Changing the topic, Eragon decided, was the best chance of not having an argument with her.

Although Petrya had not taken Eragon's decision to move to live among the elves well, Eragon had diffused her arguments and gone his own way.

"Hopefully this festival will go better than my first." Eragon said. A smile made its way onto his face. "I remember that event a bit more… clearly than I would wish."

"You were rather…" Arya left the sentence hanging.

"Naïve? Insensitive? Irrational? Offensive? So many ways to say mortifying and yet they're all true at one and the same time!" he said with a wry smile.

"… Young. You were young."

_That's one way to put it_ Saphira quipped.

_Really? Is that necessary?_

_Not really. I'm not saying she isn't right. She is. It's nothing to be ashamed about. _

"Perhaps you're right," Eragon admitted.

In the past nearly 160 years of living in one city of elves or another, Eragon's relationship with Arya had progressed. There we no huge leaps of any ground breaking epiphanies, but they were friends. And that was a great comfort to them both.

They often took walks through the forest, or simply watched the bustle of the city. It was nice to just sit quietly and feel the world shift beneath their feet. Eragon knew that other elves probably noticing their frequent visits with one another.

The nature of their friendship was platonic, but sometimes… sometimes Eragon thought there was more there: a certain buzz between them, a quiet that spoke, and perfect moments he thought he could never name why.

There were moments that seemed to stand out in his mind. A brush of hands, a telling smile, or a finger intertwining ever so slightly as they sat together. Eragon never pushed. When she was ready… if she was ready, she knew exactly where to find him: right by her side. He wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

_You've grown, Eragon._

_I know. Not that I've had much choice. Regardless, it's about time, eh?_

Saphira chuckled in his mind. _You've done well. And there have been changes. She trusts you. That means more to her than you know. And it should mean a great deal to you as well. _

_It does. I guess I still just wonder why it took her so long. Was I ever really that awful to her?_

_No. You must think of it from her position, Eragon. She lives a long time, and she knows she will. So she doesn't make… friends with short-lived people. Think about how much pain you've experienced seeing everyone you know die… she knew that. She has experienced it for herself. So she distances herself. _

_Yes. But… I am long-lived too. I won't die off soon either; just like her. _

Saphira was quiet and shifted her shoulders. Eragon could feel her hesitation. It dawned on him slowly, and he pursed his lips as the full weight settled on him. He tried his best to control the angry, disappointment, and crushing betrayal. _She didn't expect me to live through the war_ he told Saphira. _She thought Galbatorix would defeat me, and I would die. _

_No, Eragon!_

_Yes! What else is there?_

Eragon scowled at Arya's back as Saphira sighed. She looked for a way to answer him. _It was not what she expected. It was what she feared. So she distanced herself: from everything and everyone she could. She was a lone agent. It was all she knew to do. _

Eragon listened to her. Comfort came, but not as fast or in the quantity he would have preferred. But it came. And time would heal this too.

…..

Petrya arrived three days before the festival was due to begin, and already the forest was coming alive as elves arrived from all over the forest. She seemed amazed by it all, and yet distant from the magic happening around her. She seemed to change her emotions every other moment. One minute she danced with a group of elves, and the next her feet were rooted to the ground, her face stoic.

The day she arrived, it was Arya who came to bid them welcome, Petrya and Verdenci. Eragon immediately noticed the tension in the air. While all the usual niceties where observed on both sides, there was something almost… threatening in their voices.

After a rather heavy silence, Arya looked at Petrya from the corner of her eye. "Tell me, Rider Petrya, how are things outside the forest?"

Petrya squared her shoulders. "I don't know what you're talking about. You surely know as much as I."

Arya nodded. "I just wanted to make sure there wasn't any pressing business which would call the two of you away." Petrya raised an indignant eyebrow. "It was such a regrettable situation last time when you both missed the celebration. It only happens once in a century." Arya's voice nearly poured concern; Petrya was not falling for it in any way, shape, form, or manner.

"Yes. That was so unfortunate." Walking to Eragon, she threaded her arm through his and laid her other hand on his upper arm. "I'm so glad Eragon was available to help us sort out that horrible revolt!" Saphira positively groaned in Eragon's mind.

"Revolt? I had thought it was more of a small misunderstanding between the Urgals and the human village regarding some territory for the grazing of their livestock. I had no idea the entire encounter became as extreme as to become a revolt! Goodness!" Arya wore a shocked and horrified expression that was very much bordering on exaggeration.

Petrya put on her most fake smile. "It was… unclear when we only had a small idea of what was going on. We thought it wise to be there, however, just in case things got out of hand. How would it look if things became dangerous and we weren't there because we didn't think it took precedent over a festival that doesn't even concern us _humans_? We really have no real reason nor need to attend, after all. I don't think the general public would take that well at all."

"No. I suppose they wouldn't," Arya said. Her eyebrow was quirked, and Eragon couldn't help but think that were Arya a human, she would have rolled her eyes dramatically.

_This is getting rather ugly and unpleasant, don't you think?_ Saphira commented.

_Really? I hadn't noticed._

_I can do without the sarcasm, Eragon. You however, could do without this drama playing out before the entire elven world. _

_Good point_ he thought. "Petrya, I'm sure you must be weary after your journey," he said.

"Not really. I feel…"

"It's not a problem! Really, I insist! Let me show you where you and Verdenci can stay while here." Eragon took her by the arm and started to pull her away. Saphira and Verdenci began to follow, but Petrya's feet remained firmly planted.

"You seem rather comfortable here, master. You set up our rooms while we visit, playing host as though this was your own home." She pulled her arm from his grasp and stared him down.

Turning, Eragon squared his shoulders, closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them to consider the young woman. He dropped the volume of his voice. If humans had been standing close, they would have no idea what Eragon was about to say. As it was, with elves standing all around, he know that no matter how much he lowered his voice, they would likely all hear. "First of all, I do feel as though this is my home… for now. You don't live somewhere for nearly 160 years if you don't plan on calling it home for the time being. Secondly, I didn't plan your lodgings." Petrya's eyes flickered from him to Arya and back again. Eragon's anger increased. He put his hand back on his arm, his grip tightening. "Queen Islandzatí set up your lodgings. She was attempting to give you the proper honor which being a Rider gains you. However," Eragon said, stepping ever closer to his in her ear," it doesn't seem as though that respect and honor is being returned!"

Verdenci growled deep in his throat. There was a threat there, but also hesitation. Saphira stepped forward, subtly putting herself between the green dragon and the two Riders.

Eragon continued, "This is their home, Petrya, and I had expected you to behave better than this. I trained you, and your disrespect and disregard reflects poorly on me as well as yourself. Think! Think what you're doing, how you're acting, and school yourself. I know you do not mean to make relations with the elves poor, but remember they, like us, live a long time. Grudges do not die easily."

Petrya held her head high, gasped in some air, and gave a small nod. In a normal voice she said, "You're right, master. I do feel rather exhausted. It has been a long journey, and I'm afraid it has made me rather… out of sorts. Lead the way, please, to our sleeping quarters the Queen has so kindly granted us.

Eragon gave a forced smile, "Of course. This way," was all he said.

…..

"She does not seem to have matured very much over the past years." When Eragon did not answer, Arya started again. "She seems exactly as we left her all those years ago at the yearly festival. She was positively rude!"

Eragon took a deep breath, clenched his teeth, and prayed that what he had to say next didn't set him back several hundred years. "Yes, Arya, she was. But you were no better."

Arya looked at him with an icy glare. "How so?"

"You baited her, Arya. She merely rose to your challenge."

"You could say she baited me, as well!"

"Yes, I could!" Eragon said, getting frustrated. "However, I expected you to be the bigger person and not rise to her prodding! She is young, and proud. You have more wisdom, and are proud as well. The difference is that, usually, you put your pride to better use than besting a young Rider when she tries to get a rise out of you."

Arya was silent. Her gaze slowly left Eragon, became unfocused, and slid away from his eyes. He knew she was thinking. He let her think. He could use the time himself to try and calm himself. The silence continued, neither of them willing to be the first to speak.

Finally, it was Arya who spoke. "You're right. I have been… immature and disrespectful. I hope she will look at my wrongs and apply them to all of my race. I am ashamed of myself."

Eragon immediately felt guilty. "I doubt she thinks that, Arya. I don't think you should be any more ashamed as she. There were wrongs on both sides. I guess I just… I don't understand what this is all about. There is so much animosity between the two of you. Why? I don't know why!"

Arya gave a small, wry grin. "That is a question for another time."

"What do you mean?"

"Right now… it's not the right time to answer that. It's just… not so important just now."

"Oh? And when will be the right time?

Arya looked visibly uncomfortable.

_Eragon_ Saphira said, _let her be. Trust her. _ Saphira's mind joined with his even though she was far away in the forest, flying with Verdenci in search of food.

Eragon took a deep breath. "Forgive me, Arya. I will wait. When the time is right, I know you will tell me."

Arya gave a small smile, and nodded her concurrence.

**Huzzah!**

**How was it? Please review AND WHEN YOU DO, ANSWER THIS QUESTION: Do you think I should add a lemon to this story when the time comes? Answer yes or no in a review or message me. **

**Thank you!**

**Kess lml/**


	14. Two Gifts

Chapter 14: Two Gifts

**Okay… here is the next chapter! **

**I know it's been awhile since I updated… I'm sorry! I'm getting over a nasty bout of the summer flu… and it suuuuucks!**

**I think you'll all like this chapter, BUT TWO THINGS YOU HAVE TO KNOW:**

**Lemon (sex scene) is coming up soon. So get ready to either anticipate/read or skip that. **

**Things are good now… but that MAY change. I told you all it would be a long fic. I'm not done with it yet, and there is plenty of drama still to come. You may hate me at times, but you just have to hate me. And if you decide you don't like it from here on out, just pretend this is the last chapter, m'kay? **

**Thanks!**

**On with the show!**

Murtagh arrived the next day. His shoulders were tense, constantly shifting as though his shirt didn't quite lie comfortably across them. His mouth was usually a straight line of neutrality, though occasionally he would force a smile that could, in truth, only be referred to properly as a grimace. Eragon had known Murtagh to have become much more outgoing with himself and Petrya, but he still held a blatant mistrust of anyone outside their small Rider circle.

Eragon also knew that while time had convinced much of the world to trust and forgive him, talks of his infamy and betrayal were still present in all the legends about the war. While humans were more accepting of him and the good deeds he did for them in keeping the peace, Murtagh still feared the judgment from anyone who had been alive all those years ago. How many elves here had lost friends or loved ones from Galbatorix's hand, or worse, Murtagh's own. He tried to show his regret for everything, even though everything he had done had been forced upon him. He tried to find loopholes in the commands from Galbatorix, but somehow even that knowledge could not heal the stone-heart of someone who had lost a dear one at his hand.

Eragon greeted him warmly, grasping forearms with him and clapping him firmly on the back. "Welcome, brother! It has been a while since we last had a visit."

Murtagh smiled, an honest one, and said, "Too long. I was beginning to think you had abandoned us altogether!"

Eragon gave the man a sly gaze. "_Us_? When did Petrya and you become an 'us'?"

A blush colored Murtagh's cheeks. He turned away to hide it. "I… I didn't mean it like that! Just, you know…" He gestured wildly. "Just the world in general! You've been hiding in these woods or, and Petrya… well… she's always interesting to be around."

Eragon chuckled. "That's one way of putting it."

"She's a good girl, Eragon. She's just still very free-spirited. Maybe we could learn a thing or two from her," Murtagh defended the female Rider.

Eragon studied him. "Does she know?"

"Know?"

"That you love her."

"I don't love her!" Murtagh said perhaps a bit too vehemently. Flustered, he looked at Eragon with pleading eyes. "I fancy her. That's all. And… I've tried. To tell her, I mean. She's… preoccupied with someone else at the moment," he haltingly admitted.

Eragon nodded. "I'm beginning to suspect who that might be." He sighed.

"She's been absolutely impossible lately, you know? She's been snapping at me for the past month, and nearly biting my head off the past week. We were supposed to arrive together. Apparently she was more impatient than I thought. Thorn and I woke up the morning after we had set out to find them both gone. I assume she has arrived?"

"Oh, that she has. And Arya was here to welcome her," Eragon said sardonically.

Murtagh's eyes widened in disbelief before he let out a hoot of laughter. "I bet that didn't go over well. I would have paid a great amount to have been a fly on a tree to watch that encounter!"

"It was rather colorful to say the least. Those two are like a spark and a powder keg!"

"Ah, but which is the spark and which the keg?" Murtagh asked.

"Hell if I know!" Eragon said throwing his hands in the air. Murtagh only laughed and clapped Eragon on the back.

"Rider Murtagh, Dragon Thorn, be welcome in Ellesméra," came a rich voice behind them. Both men turned as the sound of the approaching figure reached their ears.

Murtagh's demeanor immediately changed. "Arya Drottningu. Thank you." Thorn rumbled a greeting to which Arya inclined her head. Swallowing, Murtagh tried to make what the rest of the world refers to as 'small talk'. "I heard, that is, Eragon was just telling me of Petrya's arrival yesterday."

"Was he now?" she asked with a voice half threatening and half amused. "Yes. She is here."

"I'm glad she arrived safely."

"We all are; I'm sure. Come with me, we'll take you to your room. Thorn, if you would like, you can go hunting. We ask only that you do so away from the city."

Thorn reared his head, thrashing from side to side. Murtagh put his hand comfortingly on the rube colored dragon's side. "Thorn means no harm. The magic here makes him uncomfortable. He is no threat; he just needs time to adjust." A hurt look appeared on Murtagh's visage. Eragon and Arya gave sympathetic and understanding gazes, but were also sure to keep the pity they felt hidden from him. Thorn was often conflicted and ungrounded, but he had never hurt anyone. The times he had let Eragon touch his mind to the dragon's own, Eragon had felt an overwhelming fear of hurting people, and a great shame in what had been forced on him. He was wary of magic now, and like Murtagh, preferred more solitary environments. However, when compared to the psychotic wreck that had been Shruikan's mind, Thorn was completely sane.

Thorn took flight with five flaps of his huge wings. In a mere moment he was high above the canopy of the immense forest. He circled once before turning towards where Saphira and Verdenci were hunting.

"Being with the other dragons is good for him. He is comfortable and always enjoys their presence. I think he feels more… stable around them. They understand better… what happened to him," Murtagh said in a voice graced with peace even for this one moment.

"It is good he has companions who understand what happened. If only others could understand things the way dragons are able to. How many mistakes and misunderstandings could have been prevented or repaired…" Arya wisely noted.

Eragon and Murtagh both studied the elf. Eragon had thought it so unfair… Arya had carried Saphira's egg for 70 years, and yet was never graced with a dragon of her own. To have wanted, waited, and prayed only to see the prize go to others… She would make a fantastic Rider. Arya on the back of her own dragon… what image could have ever been more wonderful he thought.

Lost in his own musings, Eragon failed to notice Murtagh studying him. Eragon's eyes were on Arya, but his mind was obviously somewhere far off. It is good to see some things never change he mused. Though he would never admit it to himself, Murtagh rejoiced knowing Eragon's romantic affections were still firmly fixed on the elf maiden. If Eragon was still in love with Arya, he could be in love with Petrya… right?

…..

The Agaeti Blödhren ceremony soon burst into full swing. The quiet anticipation which had blanketed the whole of the city was thrown off. An opening speech was given by the Queen, her eyes already glazing into a dreamy peace as the magic took hold. Eragon went next, speaking as the 'leader' of the Riders. He had thought out a speech before hand, but forgot most of it as the anticipation and magic took a firm grip on him as well.

In a matter of hours, food had been laid out on tables all over and wine was pouring liberally. The presentations began not long after. Elf after elf stepped into the middle of the ring of others to present their dedications. Every one of them was amazing and struck Eragon with a new sense of awe.

Eragon had not blocked himself from the magic this time. He felt it all around him in every living thing; he felt it as it flowed through him, alive in every one of his veins. As far as he could tell, he hd yet to make a fool of himself. Murtagh had blocked himself and tried to do what he could to ease Thorn's reactions. It wasn't always enough though, and when a fit of conflicted terror came over him, Saphira always flew away with him. She was his comfort. Murtagh wanted to go, but Thorn wanted him to stay. Eragon had a sneaking suspicion that Saphira and Thorn would soon, if not already started, try to create the next generation of dragons.

Petrya had put up a fight about Eragon blocking her from the magic, but eventually gave in as Eragon's patience grew thin. Eragon remembered how at his first festival, even through the restraints Arya had placed on himself and Orik, both had been more than a little affected.

Eragon was handling it in stride, to be honest. He was able to keep away of himself. He allowed himself more freedom than he normally would, but nothing too extraordinary. Most of this stemmed from the fact that the Agaeti Blödhren seemed to have a way of seducing people into a kind of wild frenzy of sorts. Everything became altered, clearer and more alive than anything ever had before. He didn't want to get too carried away and lose himself.

He eagerly awaited Arya and Murtagh's gifts to the ceremony. Both were set to deliver theirs on the first night. Eragon had been asked to go the following day at the height of the festivities, but told them his was better suited for night. So it was that Eragon would present tomorrow night.

Murtagh presented a book, written by hand, the only copy in existence. Thorn stood beside him, humming in his great chest. Queen Islanzatdí asked him what was in it, for it was rather long. If the book were to be read aloud, it would take all three days at least.

"This," Murtagh started, licking his lips to wet them in his nervousness, "is my story. It is written in the common tongue, but completely by the truth from my perspective. This is the life Thorn and I lived under Galbatorix. Everything I can remember is here: every event, every fear, and every hope. I want there to be a record. I don't want anyone to suffer as we have ever again." His voice began to tremble as he continued to speak of the pain people's misconceptions of them had caused them. He wanted the record set straight. "I want you all to be able to understand it, understand us as best you can. Perhaps then you can understand us. Perhaps you will forgive us… If it does change your idea of us and the things we have done and suffered, I am glad.

"Know, however, that this was not written in an attempt to see retribution from those whose opinions have done us harm. We do not see your guilt, nor your apology. We merely ask your understanding."

A profound hush had fallen over the circle of onlookers. As more people began to notice the silence, the stillness spread, rippling from one to the next. Eragon stood with his brow furrowed in worry, his arms crossed. He felt a strong sense of profound pride in Murtagh. It took a tremendous amount to courage to write his story, reliving everything all over again to put it on page so the world could come to terms with him and Thorn. It took even more grace to not ask for apologies or pity; he asked them only to take them as who they are now, not what they had done in the past.

Arya stepped up to Murtagh, her feet never making a sound. Her hand lighted on his arm, pulling him out of his quiet terror. He gave her a wan smile, and left the center of attention to someone more suited to it. He handed the book to Islanzadí as though it may burst into flame at any moment. He walked stiffly to Thorn, climbed on his back, and both escaped to calm themselves.

The quiet still persisted. After grueling moments of the heavy quiet, a voice broke through it, shattering it like a stone breaking the stillness of a pool of water, clear and sweet. It sang a song of love, loss, grief, and the continuing beat of life and the heart of the one left behind. Eragon stood transfixed as Arya's voice set his blood to pounding and his heart to following on her emotional journey through joy, turmoil, and acceptance of take that the inevitability that all things must end.

Eragon felt Saphira's mind fuse with his, and they shared everything together. Both of them could relate to parts of the song. Everyone had experienced one of the deep emotions she sang of at one point in their life or another. By the end, Eragon had tears in his eyes and felt shaken to his core. Many of the elves unabashedly let their tears run in tiny rivers over their pale faces. Eragon leaned into Saphira, needing her warmth and solace.

_It was beautiful_ she stated. Eragon nodded, but Saphira felt his unease and creeping sensation of fear in him. _What is it, little one? What frightens you so?_

_When she sang of feeling as though she would be completely alone… She said she felt as though no one could understand her pain. I don't want that. I'm terrified I'll live forever, surrounded by people, and yet always be alone._

_Eragon, that will never happen. I am with you and always shall be. I will never leave you. I know you seek another form of companionship, but you shall __never__ be alone. _

Eragon turned and buried his face in her snout, hugging her tightly. _I love you, Saphira._

_And I you. And I you._

Feeling more assured, Eragon turned back to the festival as more elves presented one fantastic feat after another. Looking around, Eragon spotted Arya speaking to another elf a ways away. He gave a small smile and went in search of some wine. He felt as though a good drink was well in order. _Why does she always make me feel __everything__… and so intensely! Is it an elf thing do you suppose? I've never felt that way from anyone else. Yet every single emotion I get from her feels as though it will knock me over!_ Eragon asked Saphira, his tone nearly a whine.

_Because you love her_ came the answer from his dearest friend.

_That simple is it?_ Eragon gave a sarcastic 'humph' and took a drink of the strawberry wine in his hand.

Saphira chuckled. _Yes, it is that simple. Look at everything you've done for me over the years, and everything I have done for you. All of that stemmed from love. Children stem from love, I like to think though it may not always be true. Wars have been fought for love. Remember all that Roran did for Katrina. Love leads to so many emotions, and that makes it the greatest capacity we are gifted with. _

_You really are wonderful_ Eragon told her. A renewed sense of joyful reverie swept over him as he reminded himself that such a mesmerizing and wise being had deigned to choose him to be connected with for the rest of their lives. He was chosen out of everyone in the world…

_I know. But feel free to tell me that as often as you wish_. She winked a great eye at him as he laughed. Eragon shook his head at her joke, the smile feeling at home on his face.

When Arya joined them he was still smiling. "Did you like it?" she said by way of greeting. Eragon thought he could detect something in her voice sounding almost shy.

He nodded. "It was beautiful. I never knew something that sounded so wonderful could also be so powerful. It was well done, Arya, truly."

A small blush covered her cheeks. "And what will you be doing tomorrow night? I know you've been at work on it for months now, but you have refused to let on what it is," she said with a sly glance.

"If I've kept the secret for this long, what makes you think I'd tell you now?" he responded teasingly. She gave a dramatic pouty expression which nearly caused Eragon to choke on the wine he had just taken a draught of and was attempting now to swallow. As he sputtered, Arya wrinkled her nose at him.

"That's what you get for keeping secrets," she said. Suddenly she stepped closer to him, her emerald eyes hypnotizing him. He reflexively leaned in closer. "Though," she continued in a lower tone, "if I know you at all, I'm sure it will be wonderful." Her hand gracefully rose and came to rest on his cheek. Eragon felt a flush climb his chest; his breathing deepening in effort to cool himself. He swallowed hard as Arya gave him one last long look before moving on.

He groaned inward.

_It will be okay, Eragon. You are smarter now._

He scowled. _You mean I was dumb before?_

_Of course not. I mean that you have more experience now. You've made progress. Have confidence and take heart in the friendship you've made. Don't worry about plans; just let things be. What happens will happen, and they will happen in their own time. _With that, Saphira took off into the night, promising to be back in time for their gift the following night.

…..

As it had 200 years ago, the grand celebration seemed to fly by one moment and the next time stopped altogether. Eragon laughed, ate, drank, and talked with a great many elves. He realized that he really had made a good number of friends during his time among them.

Lanterns like the world in a soft light, abolishing the dark shade from the tree's great branches during the day, and giving the world a seductive air at night.

Eragon was pleasantly surprised to have Arya as a frequent companion. She introduced him to her friends and acquaintances he had not yet met. Here in the festival, she seemed as though her heart was lighter. Her smiles she offered more freely; her laughter came a little louder. Thinking back to when he had first met her (and even when he had first come to live in Ellesméra ), she had really changed. She never used to joke with him and certainly never touched him excepting necessity. She was opening up to him, and he was discovering a whole new side to Arya. He loved her just the same for she was still herself. But now she seemed much less severe and more like the carefree elves he had met on his journey here with Orik all those years ago.

Saphira indeed returned two hours before they were to dedicate their gift. Eragon knew from her glazed eyes and unfocused mind that things between her and Thorn had… progressed. He was glad to see her happy, and happy for the return of dragons to the world.

Arya had been present when Saphira arrived. Skipping lightly over to them she asked, "Is it time?" Her cheeks were red and her eyes glassy. Eragon didn't know this was due to the magic or the wine. She was definitely excited. Eragon thought back… He had never seen Arya drunk before, but he just might if it was indeed the wine giving her this look. He offhandedly wondered if he should be ashamed that the thought of a drunk Arya was amusing to him.

"Soon," he told her. She nodded enthusiastically. "Just make sure you don't miss it. This is a one-time-only performance," he joked.

Arya gave him a hard look, then broke into a laughing smile, unable to keep up the act of false anger at the thought of him thinking so little of her as to even consider that she might miss his dedication. She reached down, taking his hand in hers. "I wouldn't miss it for the world." She stepped in and placed a small kiss on his cheek. "Good luck," she said as she turned and walked away.

Eragon was stunned. His mouth hung open and his hand came up to his face as he watched her walk away and disappear into the crowd. He was in complete disbelief. He pulled his hand away and studied it as though he might have wiped the kiss from his cheek and would be able to see it on his fingers.

_Focus, Eragon_ came Saphira's words.

_But…_

_I know_ said Saphira. _But we have to work to do to get ready. Don't let a kiss distract you._

_You're one to talk_ Eragon said teasingly. Saphira did not deign to respond.

…..

Two hours later found Eragon and Saphira standing on the highest root of the Menoa tree looking out over a crowd that must have contained every elf who had come to the Bloodoath celebration. Two large chests stood at their feet, and many eyes looked at them curiously.

Taking a deep breath to steel his nerves, Eragon spoke so the crowd could her. "We know it is trandional for Riders and their dragons to each give a gift separately. Saphira and I decided we could each do something, but present them together, at the same time. They go together, our gifts, mine and Saphira's to make a whole. We hope you accept this and our gift."

Eragon opened both chests. "Rïsa," he said, and a hundred objects rose from them. In the lantern light they were dark blue, each about the size of a grapefruit. _Ready, Saphira?_

_I am ready. _

Saphira drew a great breath and blew a torrent of bright blue flame into the air. As she kept the flame going, Eragon moved the objects from the chest in a spiral, a great cyclone of… something…. Throwing blue spots of light across the waiting crowd.

As each one passed through Saphira's flame, they flew off in different directions, each carrying a tongue of flame with it. Though they were engulfed in flame, the fire did not burn the tree where they now floated among its boughs and over the crowd where they hung, slowly spinning in place. The air was full of them.

The crowd looked on in wonder, but also in curiosity. What exactly were they?

Taking a deep breath, Eragon blew out a stream of air as one might do to extinguish a row of candles. Ashe did so, Saphira let out a flow of magic through him. He turned in a slow circle. As he came back to the position in which he started, every flame had one out. The world had turned from a sea of blue back the yellow of the normal lanterns.

The crowd waited.

_Did it not word?_

_It worked. Give it time._

Sure enough, one by one, the objects began to glow. Each held a soft shine that seemed to radiate from within it. The pale blue lights spun softly, floating on the air and shifting in the wind.

"They… they will glow and float forever here. The magic wards around Elleséra will keep them in, and the magic to sustain the light comes from each one itself… from what they're made of," Eragon explained sheepishly.

The crowd looked on in silence. The mood seemed to be that of 'Is that it? Surely a Dragon Rider could do better than that….'

Eragon swallowed past the lump in his throat. Exasperated, Saphira rose up and nudged one with her snout. It gently landed in the hands of an elf in the front row. Everyone around him craned their necks to get a better view. Eragon saw Arya standing with her mother, both wearing quizzical expressions.

Finally, the elf with the orb gasped, "It's a flower! And it's made entirely from dragon's scales!" Eragon used magic to push the rest of them down. As they landed amongst the crowd, people began to gasp and cry out in delight.

In their hands they held a perfect flower blossom, opened with several layers peeled gently from its center. Every flower was made from blue scales, fused perfectly together to form the soft blossom, not a single scale forming the petals out of place. There was not seam, no scar, to mark where or how they had been made or fashioned to one another. It was as though they had been plucked from some hidden field. They were made as though nature itself had produced them. They were perfect.

And from within each and every one of them, a soft light was emitted the small remnant of the dragon flame which had first ignited it.

Soon the crowd over was laughing in charmed delight. Eragon couldn't help but smile.

"Rider Eragon, Dragon Saphira," called Queen Islanzadí, "this is beautifully done!" She held one of the glowing blossoms in her hand. Beside her, Arya's face beamed with pride as it was illuminated by the sapphire light.

"Thank you, Your Majesty. Saphira's scales fall off as she grows to make room for larger ones to grow in. We've been collecting them for a good number of years now," he explained with a nervous laugh. "I fashioned each one, and each is unique. As you saw, Saphira's flame and magic gave them their light. Ellesméra itself give them the magic to float. We though it a fitting gift and hope it pleases you."

"Very much," she responded. "And float they shall." She smiled out over the crowd. As she nodded a signal, everyone lifted the scale blossoms up into the air where they carried themselves aloft, scattering the festival area and wove softly, gently though the Menoa tree's branches.

Saphira hummed in utter delight in her deep chest. _Well done, little one._

…..

Half an hour later, after walking through the mass of elves elated with his feat, Eragon stepped into the sanctuary of the forest surrounding the great tree to try and calm himself.

"Eragon?" It was Arya.

"Over here," he called back.

He watched as she gingerly stepped out from behind a tree, scanning the darkness for sign of him.

"Here," he called again. She turned towards his voice and a smile broke out on her face as she spotted him. She rushed towards him, and nearing him jumped to embrace him. Caught by complete and utter surprise, Eragon stumbled back a step or two, his arms wrapped reflexively around her waist to catch her. He held her for a moment, rejoicing in her embrace and elated by the sound of her enchanted laughter. He slowly lowered her to her feet, but when he released her waist she did not move away or step back. She stood before him, her chest mere inches from his. His breath quickened, and had he taken the time to notice, hers had too.

"Those flowers… they're terrific. They're absolutely gorgeous and ingenious. You gift us forever with them," her eyes shone was they looked into his. Her voice had been rushed at first, coming in quick gasps, and fell to a whisper at the end.

Eragon smiled. Looking around, he pulled the nearest one to them by magic and whispered to it. Arya felt another release of magic. Eragon took her hand in his, keeping his eyes locked to hers as a conflicted battle raged in his mind. Making his decision, he turned her hand palm up and placed the illuminated flower in it.

"It won't float anymore." He swallowed and hoarsely added, "It's yours. If you want it, I mean…" He held his breath and could have sworn that his heart had stopped beating even as his pulse thudded in his ears.

Arya looked down at the blossom and then back at him. "I can have it?"

"Of course."

"it really is gorgeous, Eragon," she said though her eyes never left his face. "Thank you."

He gave her a shy smile. It was then that Eragon realized he hadn't taken his hand from under hers. Her hand holding the blossom was still gently cradled by his. He jerked it away, and then winced as embarrassment flooded through him.

Arya didn't laugh though, nor did she appear angry, frustrated, or annoyed. She just kept looking at him. Slowly, her other hand came to rest on his upper arm as she raised her chin ever so slightly and her lids began to close. Eragon froze as her lips softly touched his. She pulled away, her eyes searching his. His eyes were focused on her lips… they had been so soft. They were the perfect shade of pink, and right now, they were ever so slightly parted.

Hesitantly, Eragon moved his hands up to her hips, leaving her plenty of time to escape if she didn't want his. His attention stayed focused on her lips though occasionally flickered up to her eyes to check for any signs of distress or regret.

Although his mind was reeling, at one in the same time a peaceful calm also filled him. Slowly he brought his lips to hers in a chaste but long kiss he had waited 300 years to experience and dreamed about on a nearly daily basis.

As their mouths parted, both darted in for one last meeting before pulling away. Eragon pressed his forehead to hers. Both let out a shuttering sigh; their breaths mingled together, warm on their faces.

"Oh, Arya," was all Eragon could say. He closed his eyes, his forehead still held with hers. She let out a nervous giggle. They stayed in that manner for awhile: Eragon holding Arya as she held his gift to her heart.

**Sooo…. That was long, I know. But I really hoped you liked it. **

**There is plenty more to come once I decide on when I want some key events to occur. I will warn no you now: **_**Don't expect things to remain terribly honky-dory for long! **_

**I have plans, people. /maniacal laughter/**

**But this IS an Eragon/Arya fic. I promise you that. /crosses heart/**

**Be patient with me, and I'll get you there! **

**C:**

**lml/ Kess**


	15. I'm Not Going

**Hello lovies! **

**Sorry it's been so long! **

**Here is the next chapter!**

**NOTE: THIS CHAPTER TAKES US BACK IN TIME A LITTLE BIT. And by a little bit, I do mean a small amount of time. This starts out on the first day of the festival. It's the same time period but from other characters' perspectives. **

**I hope you enjoy! I've already started writing the next chapter, so hopefully it won't be too long in coming! **

**Enjoy!**

Chapter 15: I'm Not Going

After the rather terrifying ordeal at the Menoa Tree, Thorn and Murtagh had made their escape. Saphira joined them not long after, and Thorn took off with her. Murtagh knew Thorn needed the comfort the sapphire-scaled dragon could give him, but it still stung knowing Thorn had someone to turn to while Murtagh had no one. There was always Eragon, but it didn't feel right going to him, not this time.

Murtagh wandered alone through the forest, meandering over roots and past game trails. The whole forest seemed to be changed by present event. The animals wandered near each other and frolicked, predator and prey in harmony.

_I guess it's only fitting_ he thought. _This was all started back when elves and dragons became one, following the bloody war. _

Murtagh knew exactly how bloody wars could be. He had always known the pain of physical wounds (thanks in large part to his wonderful father and the sword Murtagh now carried), but the mental scares of being forced into malicious deeds and the label of 'evil' applied to you without any warning… those never quite healed. They were scares that would always remain a wound, just a bit. The skin around it raw, or the wound cracked and enflamed. You could never feel whole again with the terror of it being ripped open again at your back.

Giving a sigh, Murtagh turned and started moving back in the general direction of the music and laughter. _It's not natural. Usually trees muffle sound, but these seem to echo it. _ The music filled the forest and every living thing creature seemed to fall, stepping in time with the beat. The small world here beneath the thick canopy of pine branches becoming one beating heart. _Just not natural!_

But then, little was where the elves are concerned. All of that was subjective, he guessed. After all, not many people could wield magic; even fewer rode and communed with dragons. He himself had ever so slowly begun to change to look like them. The tips of his ears now pinched up to a neat point and his face shape had become more angular ever so slightly.

He still looked _far_ more human than Eragon, though. Even after his 'change', Eragon's features had continued to progress towards what Murtagh referred to as 'elfdom'. If Eragon ever decided to re-enter the human world, without Saphira by his side, he was convinced the people would think he was a full-blooded elf.

Staying here and living among the elves seemed to suit Eragon in Murtagh's mind. He seemed more at peace with himself. _Perhaps we should move here and look for some peace of our own_ Murtagh thought with a grimace. It would never work. It would be too much for Thorn to bear. Murtagh honestly found the elves almost TOO peaceful anyway. The way they could flit around like twittering birds all day long and yet be very private, strict being boggled his mind. How would a whole race be two things at the same time?

Eventually Murtagh could see the soft light of the ceremony filtering through the trees up ahead. He didn't go towards it, but rather turned to run along it still concealed in the shadow. Finding an old log, Murtagh slumped down onto it heavily. Closing his eyes and leaning against the tree behind him he considered what to do next. He wanted a distraction to slow his thoughts and calm his mind. The closer he came to the music, light, and dancing figures, the more he was reminded of standing in front of all of those people, praying they would take what he offered with grace(… or at least pretend to).

As a string of tinkling laughter reached his ears, Murtagh turned his head towards the light. A figure was making it's way through the trees. "What have we here? I had begun to think you'd fled Ellesméra altogether!" came a welcomed familiar voice.

"I considered it, but Thorn flew off with Saphira. I don't feel up to walking. Maybe tomorrow," Murtagh gave a sad smile.

"Yes. I had feared that's what happened. Verdenci is quiet put out by the whole ordeal," Petrya said as she reached his tree.

"Where is Verdenci anyway? I haven't seen too much of him lately. You wouldn't think it would be hard to spot a gigantic green dragon, but there it is. I've apparently missed him. Maybe he blends in with the tree too well or something," he joked. Petrya's laugh instantly raised his spirits. _I made her laugh!_

"Perhaps. Mostly has been off on his own allowing the elves to fawn over him, in a rather unseemly manner in my opinion. As for that tree… it isn't right. Some chickie fuses herself into a tree and the whole civilization of elves worship her… it? I don't understand it at all. How on earth that would be a good thing is beyond me. It's all a bit silly, really." Petrya found another log a few feet from his.

"It is a lot to swallow I guess. But they know what they're talking about more than us." Murtagh studied Petrya. She was tall, for a woman, but still much shorter than himself or Eragon. Her features were becoming lean and lithe. Her eyes had slanted dramaticly already, her ears less so. _It changes us all differently. We change as differently as we were different before we became Riders._ Murtagh had never thought that before. Of course, Eragon had a helping hand in his transformation which left Murtagh with no one to really compare his own progression against.

"So what are you sitting out here for? Moping, no doubt." A dramatic 'woe is me' expression was given to him. He shook his head and tried to hide a smile.

"However did you guess?" he started. After a long breath he continued, "Just trying to get my bearings again. It wouldn't be couth to reenter the festivities whilst 'moping' as you put it."

"I know what you did was hard for you, but you did the right thing. If I am correct, and I always am, you entered a great amount of respect this evening," Petrya said in a firm voice.

"Thank you." He paused for a moment and then asked, "So what are you giving? Knowing you, it's something rather outlandish and gaudy."

"Don't poke fun! That's offensive! I prefer the term 'creative'."

"You mean 'tacky'?"

Petrya reached over and slapped him playfully on the arm. Murtagh cried out in mock pain and rubbed his arm. Petrya made an overly exaggerated eye roll before both broke into laughter.

"I'm giving them a piece of art."

"Art?"

"Yes, Murtagh. Art. You know: paintings, sculptures, plays, songs… all of that stuff." Murtagh couldn't be sure int eh soft light flitting through the trees, but he thought a blush might have covered her cheeks.

"I know what you mean. I guess I'm just… I didn't know you made art. What kind of you make?" he asked.

"You really aren't interested in this. So let's just stop it there, Murtagh."

"But I am interested! I'm interested in everything about you!" Murtagh mentally slapped himself. He couldn't help it- the words had sprung out before he had even the slightest chanced of swallowing them.

A very awkward silence followed; both of them squirming where they sat. "I mean… I didn't mean it like that." He did. "I just meant that I don't really know much about you which is a shame. You're the newest Rider, one of only three. We're a small family. You're the youngest, our little sister. But I feel… I guess Eragon and I never really took the time to get to know you when you weren't aback Verdenci. I'm sorry for that." Even now, the awkwardness continued. _Great. Just great, Murtagh. That was a total disaster! Now she'll get up, mutter an excuse, and run. Can you blame her?_

"I draw."

Murtagh's head snapped up to look at the slim girl.

"I draw. Sometimes I paint. I like to paint. Art was my passion before Verdenci, before elves, before dwarves, before magic… just before," she explained shyly. Murtagh couldn't help but smile. It was odd to see Petrya so… timid. He had never really thought about the girl she used to be.

"Are you any good?" he asked jokingly. She looked up to slap him again. Murtagh tried, unsuccessfully, to dodge and laughed as her blow landed.

"Yes! I like to think I am, thank you very much!" Murtagh sat quietly watching her. The small smile and twinkle in his eyes did not escape Petrya's notice. "If you're lucky, maybe I'll let you see some of it one day!"

"I'd like that very much."

The silence return, but this time it was a warm comfortable quiet. A small bit of peace found just outside the whirlwind of celebration, just within the tree line.

"Have you seen Eragon? I was looking for him and found you instead!" She meant it as a jest, but Murtagh's insides froze in an instant.

"No. I haven't."

"Hmmm. I thought I saw him talking to one elf or another, I can't really tell them apart. That… Well, Arya…"

"Ah. I see. You didn't want to deal with her?"

"Exactly. It wouldn't do to make a scene. I will so very much love it when she has to stand there by her mother and act pleased with my gift! What a farce!"

"She is the princess, you know? If something should happen to Islanzadí, she will become queen."

"Of course I know that! Why else would Eragon want to be with her? He has more sense than to fall for her wooing." Petrya put her nose in the air, her chin raised high, daring him to contradict her.

_This won't go well_. "Petrya, Eragon loves Arya, very much in fact. Arya has never tried to woo Eragon. It has always been the other way around. Always. Arya has turned him down at every turn. He truly loves her," Murtagh pleaded with her while still trying to sound reasonable.

"All the more reason!" Petrya stood suddenly, her fists clenched tight and her lips pursed. "She wants nothing to do with him? Then why keep trying if it never comes to fruit? Why try for 300 years at the same thing? She's magiced him. She must have put a spell on him to make him obsessed with her!"

"No, Petrya." Murtagh spoke softly. "I've been there nearly the whole time. It is rare to find someone who can look at another person as adoringly as Eragon ardently looks at Arya. He loves her. And will forever. Always."

"It's not true!" Petrya cried. Tears were in her eyes now.

_Stubborn to a fault!_ Something broke inside Murtagh and a surge of anger and frustration rushed through him. He stood and grabbed Petrya's shoulders. "Always. He's never going to stop. And one day she's going to come around."

"They can't! She's a princess. It wouldn't be right to make a Rider king! That's too much power resting in one man's hand. The world won't accept it and certainly not the elves!"

"They'll find a way. And if not, they won't get married. But they'll always be together. They'll always be bound to one another in some way. They already are!"

"Stop it!" Petrya said, her voice strained and her lip quivering.

"You want him to give up on Arya? Heh, you would do better to give up on him yourself!"

_SLAP!_

Murtagh stood stunned as the stinging on his cheek began to synch up with the strangely loud sound that had preceded it. Murtagh heard Petrya's ragged breathing.

"Stop it! I told you to stop!" she beat her fists against his chest. Murtagh stepped back once to catch her blows, but otherwise stood still and let her take her frustrations out on him for a few moments. When the flurry of her fists began to slow, Murtagh reached up and took her by the arms.

Finally stopping, Petrya began to cry in earnest, her head lying on Murtagh's shoulder, his hands still frozen on her arms.

As Petrya's sobs and sniffling began to subside, she lifted her tear-streaked face. Her skin was red and puffy, her eyes shining with tears. He took one of his hands and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he whispered. Leaning in, he planted the lightest of kisses on her forehead.

She pushed roughly away from him. She stared at him, her soft eyes suddenly having turned cold. "No," she said, her voice like ice. "I won't give up. I'll prove your wrong!"

"Is this about your feelings for Eragon or just about being able to best Arya?" _Murtagh, this is not going well. Stop. Digging!_ But he couldn't. He obsession with Eragon was helping no one and causing a rifts among just about everyone. The worst of it was that if there was to be a falling out amongst the Riders, Murtagh had no idea who he would go with. The very thought of not being able to decide shamed him. Eragon was his brother. Eragon had saved Murtagh, saved the world. Murtagh should have immediately stood by his side. But…

_What a strangely powerful word: 'but'._

_I love her. I think. I've never wanted to be this close to anyone before. I want to protect her, to always be by her side, and to do whatever I possibly can to make her happy. Maybe this is what Eragon feels when he thinks of Arya. Does his heart pound and grow tight in his chest? Do his palms sweat? Can he stop himself from feeling as though he's a bumbling fool? Come to think of it, who would __Eragon__ choose if something were to happen: Murtagh and the Riders, or the woman he loved above all?_

Petrya turned on her heel and stomped back to the festival with her back rigid.

_Ugh. _

….

In the afternoon of the following day, Petrya presented her gift. A beautiful piece of artwork done in vivid colors of pain overlaid with a drawing done in charcoal. Only a very few people knew what this was. THIS is how a dragon sees the world.

Petrya called it "Freedom".

She stubbornly refused to meet Murtagh's eyes all day. This was supposed to be a great celebration of harmony. The last thing Murtagh wanted to do was celebrate. When he and tried to snake off back to his sleeping quarters to sulk, Eragon had caught him and drug him back into the fray.

Murtagh finally gave up on just about everything concerning the Bloodoath and poured himself into a drunken stupor. He took his magic barriers off and let himself get lost in everything. After all, his part was done. Eragon was the only Rider left to present anything.

Murtagh vaguely remembered something about pretty blue lights and didn't realy try to remember anything more. _I'm sure Eragon's gift was lovely. If he asks, that's what I'll say. I'll say, "Yes, Eragon. It was lovely. Now please let me back to my throwing my life away. There's a good lad! Truly lovely, though, really! Well done!"_ Murtagh smiled and lurched to his feet.

Across the way he saw Petrya scowling in the direction of the tree line. Murtagh followed her gaze (it took a little while) and saw Eragon walking into the forest. _Shall you follow him, Petrya? I'm sure he'd love to turn you down again!_ He knew he was being harsh in his thinking, but he also knew he was very drunk.

Petrya's hard gaze turned quickly to one of absolute rage. Looking back in the direction Eragon had gone, Murtagh spied Arya slipping into the tree line after him.

_Ugh-oh. _

Murtagh sobered up in record time as he made his way through the crowd. Petrya made to go after them, but Murtagh caught hold of her first. "Petrya, don't do this."

"Leave me alone." She shook her arm free of his grasp.

"Not now. This isn't the right time or place. You know that as well as I do."

"I have to try."

"And I know you will. But think! You have a very long life ahead of you. Use that to your advantage and don't hurry yourself into a disaster."

"I'll have him now!"

"Eragon wanted her right away too. He hurried himself into one mess after another with Arya for years. In fact, the first time he managed that was 300 years ago at this very festival! While he's lived here, though, he's learned to be patient, and it's paid off in full. Look at them! You only have ot glance at them to know they're closer now than they ever were before."

A calculating look came over the girl's face. He eyes still fixated on the forest, she began to nod. "They are closer than ever. Patience did pay off for him, but it won't pay off for me without a bit of intervention to balance the scales first," she mumbled to herself.

"Intervention? What…?" Murtagh instantly knew she had taken his words to heart… and as soon as she had them she turned, immediately running with them in the wrong direction. _This can't be good!_

"They're too close. If I'm patient, Arya will only put her claws in him even more! I have to act fast, but not at getting Eragon to love me. I have to get Eragon not to love her. Why ever didn't I think of this before?"

"Petrya, please don't do this," he begged. "You'll tear his world apart."

"No. She'll tear his world apart. I'll simply be there to pick up the pieces." A sly grin cam over her face, changing her into a stranger Murtagh had never expected to see in Petrya.

"No. Petrya, please. It will kill him. He's finally happy. Leave him be. Let him have the peace he's wanted for so long. Please, let's just finish the festival and leave here as early as we can. As soon as the magic wears off you'll think more clearly."

"I'm not going."

"Not going?"

"Yes, Murtagh! If you're just going to repeat everything I say this conversation is pointless. It has already become rather annoyingly circular!" Sighing exasperatedly, Petrya lowered her voice and explained, "I'm going to stay here in Ellesméra. I'll keep a close watch on him and make sure Arya is kept well away from him."

"Oh? And how will you command an elf princess? You may be strong, but she's stronger. What will you do? Have Verdenci burn her to death? You'll have the entire kingdom out for your head with Eragon leading the pack!"

"Of course not. Stop being dramatic. Something will happen that I can use. There's always something."

"Something?"

Petrya looked at him in disbelief and gave a curt 'tsk!' Shaking her head, Petrya pushed past him, heading towards the forest. "Go back to your wine, Murtagh. I'm done with our little chat."

Murtagh watched as everything fell apart right in front of his very eyes.

**Taa-daaaaaah!**

**I hope you liked it!**

.I: Happy birthday to you! This is your present! … Unless I am able to get the next chapter up by the 29th. Then you can have your choice of the two. C:

**So that's that!**

**I will try really hard to get to updating sooner. I know I've started to get behind. /: **

**Revieeeeew!**

**ILY! Kess lml/**


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